


Hufflepuppy's Tales of Azeroth, Volume 1: Badlands

by Huffle_puppy



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Fights, Gen, Slow Burn, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-05-20 14:34:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 52
Words: 125,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14896382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huffle_puppy/pseuds/Huffle_puppy
Summary: Rhea, a woman on a mission of the utmost importance, hires a mysterious man for help. Little does she know that he is being hunted by two separate, deadly parties, turning her already difficult mission into a dire game of cat-and-mouse.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhea hires a mysterious man from Fuselight.

The world was not prepared. It screamed and shattered and broiled under the dark clouds; towns crumbling, nature rolling to chaos as the land broke open, wounded and crying out to be saved. Through the sky, black wings rose and fell, powerful, free, spreading fire and spilling blood as they went. Cultists rose in fervent awe, breaking loose upon the public with twisted rites and cruel intent, their wills realized, their Masters free to spew corruption and darkness upon the world. Thousands died, millions wept, and the world would never be the same. The cataclysm had arrived.

<*>                    <*>                    <*>

In the Eastern Kingdoms, North of Blackrock mountain and South of the cold dwarven hills, a vast desert sprawls. Huge pillars of stone rise there; cliffs to a time before, plateaued at the top by molten rock, still smoldering from the black dragon Deathwing's breath. Along one of these pillars, where the ground had escaped searing Hell, a group of Goblins make their refuge in a town called Fuselight. Here, the tale begins.

The night was dark and full of stars. The desert sands lay quiet and still, hiding their secrets, and mountain winds licked the small buildings of Fuselight, blowing over the occasional unsecured tent, sending its small owner in a mad dash after it. Lanterns remained on their perches yet still blew madly in the gusts, sending the flamelight in a mad whirl around the encampment. The Goblin’s shadows--not green and sometimes not small either--danced along too, some in revelry, some in intimacy, some in argument. Only one was still and nervously alert.  
In the inn, hiding under a large cloak, a slim Goblin woman waited against the wall to speak to the innkeeper. A curl of pale red hair fell down her light green forehead, and, for what seemed like the hundredth time that night, she brushed it away. Her robe wove intricate patterns along her bosom, and, despite her stature, she seemed to hold herself with an air of regality. She stood still and patient, yet there was a vague urgency in her eyes as they scanned the crowded room. The other patrons paid her little mind, caught up in their drinks, meals, and the two drunken idiots dancing on one of the tables.

She raised her hand again for the innkeeper's attention. Karaz, a greasy, unshaven Goblin raised his hand in response and went back to the patron he was speaking to. Their conversation was, to him, incredibly significant, as it was a negotiation for the prices of a drink. He was used to haggling, but with a mixture of drunkenness and desperation in the patron, he was sure he could get a good amount of coin--

She raised her hand again and Karaz halted his negotiating, exasperated. His voice cut the chatter of the room, reaching her and most of the other Goblins there. "Rhea!" he said, "Just come up to the damn bar and talk!" The room's gaze turned to her. She met it and drew in her cloak, walking to the counter. There was exactly one snicker from one patron watching her hips--silenced as she darted her gaze to him and bore in.

The drunk haggler glanced her way blearily as she reached the bar and turned back to start up again about prices. "Rizzy," snapped Karaz the bartender, "take the bottle and gimme whatcha got!" Rizzy blinked again dumbly, cleaned his pockets out onto the countertop, and grabbed the bottle that had been set aside. The room went back to its clamor of drunken revelry, and Karaz turned back to Rhea, grumbling. "If ya need to talk so badly just cut in, lady."

"I was just trying to be polite," she said, voice soft. The bartender made a face accompanied by an incredulous "eh?" and set down the glass he had been scrubbing, studying her closely. She met his gaze. He shook his head. "Rhea, this ain't a place for being polite; ya take whatcha want, with coin or with force. I don't recommend with force, because we got a great bouncer--" he stopped and nodded over to a corner of the room. She glanced over to it.

It was almost too dark to see, so she squinted, but she could make out a man, weirdly tall, sitting alone at the corner table. She squinted narrower and frowned; he wasn't a tall Goblin, but a Human, dressed in white leathers--the self-made kind; rough and jaggedly cut. A desert mask covered most of his face, the cloth seeming light, wrapped around all but his eyes and now his bearded mouth to take a drink. Goggles sat perched on his head, green and large. He seemed to be scanning the room, more resigned than aware.  
Rhea studied him a long moment. Finally, her voice soft, she said "where'd you find him?" His arms were mostly uncovered, scars running up rather firm muscles. He's used to lifting heavy things, she thought; that might prove useful.

"Didn't find him, Rhea!" Karaz’s voice cut through her thoughts. "He washed up on shore down at Fuselight-by-the-Sea and worked for them carrying things and building stuff. Fishing for food; menial labor type work. They wanted to test out their teleporter system so he popped up here and I set him up. Loyal as anythin'; does just what I want when I want, couldn't be happier doin' it!"  
Rhea hadn't looked away from the “bouncer.” "He doesn't look too happy."

"Oh! No, he shouldn't--he was a prince, exiled from Gilneas at a young age, a bounty on his head fer bein' the King's bastard--lived out in the wild fer twenty long years until bing, bang, BOOM! The walls of Gilneas tremble! A horde of monsters rush in through the broken stones, huge, quick as an arrow and black as the night--the city filled with screams of the populous as claws and teeth ripped through--!" His voice had grown to a booming swelter. The inn stopped and listened and gasped--all except the one Rhea studied so intently. "--and back he came to his city, on the back of one of those wolf-men; back to face down Greymane and his armies, commanding the forces of nature itself! But wait!" Another gasp from the leering crowd. "From beyond the walls, another army! Lady Sylvanas and her troops, ta claim their rightful land!" A cheer went up, mugs of ale being pounded into tables, the precious drink wetting the wood and the stone floor. "And down came her arrows, FSSSSH! and the wolves howled out--"

Rhea winced in disgust at the gurgling yell the innkeeper attempted. A lass in the audience gasped, the men around flocking to hold her close, comforting, just as she'd planned.

"And Greymane roared and faced the Banshee Queen, the once-proud city burning around them, the ground beneath them shaking with tremors and falling into the sea, but her arrow flung true--” The crowd gathered in, breath held tight in their chests. “But not to King Greymane--to King Greymane's SON! Jumping in front of his father to save him from a poisoned fate!" The crowd gasped and flung their heads to the Gilnean. He had his head down, eating his meal with, as Rhea observed, surprisingly good table manners. "No, you daft gits! Not him! Greymane's other son! The true prince!" They turned back.

"And with him outta the way, all our buddy here had to do was kill the King and then the city could be his! He went to the Banshee Queen and grovelled at her feet--” Here, Karaz hopped up onto his counter on his knees, the spectacle for all his patrons to see. At least the counter couldn’t get dirtier, Rhea thought to herself.

“'Oh, Lady Sylvanas, please bless me, for I am a bastard prince of Gilneas, and I want to share the land with ya! Please, I'll do anything--' how many times d'you think she gets THAT one, lads, eh?" The men snickered, the women pretending to blush and gasp. No one was innocent there. "And she let him 'prove' himself--" The men cheered. "And sent him to kill Greymane! But when he came to the King, he found himself so overwhelmed with dear ol' daddy that he threw himself down and begged fer forgiveness! And Greymane said-- 'prove yerself!'" The women burst into a cackle, the men making disgusted, retching faces. Karaz laughed, landing back behind the bar, yelling out “lasses, that one’s a story for you! Ye can thank me later, if yer feelin’ at all generous?”

"Does he have a name?" Rhea's voice cut through their debauchery, and all eyes turned back to Karaz. He blinked, then chuckled with just a hint of nervousness and cleared his throat. "Of course he does!" Karaz grinned at Rhea, cheerful, a long pause not masking his efforts to think. "Augustus Cetennius Greymane." The patrons clamored--

"His REAL name?" Her eyes hadn’t left the Gilnean, who still minded his own business. The crowd silenced itself. Karaz forced a laugh for them to hear and lowered his voice: "Rhea... c'mon; don't be a kill-joy, here--"

She turned to him, her eyes sharp, her posture proudly regal. The innkeeper balked and shut his mouth. Her voice lowered, every word still crisp and clear. "Cut the bullshit. What is his name, where is he from?"

Karaz gulped. "Why d'you wanna know so much, Lady?"

She raised one brow.

He cleared his throat. "He, uh-- he did wash ashore. He is Gilnean; the armor's from white bucks native to that region. Beyond that, dunno."

Her brow remained poised. "You don't know his name."

The innkeeper shook his head.

"How long has he been here?"

"'Bout... three months? Five?"

“You never once in that time asked him his name?”

“He doesn’t speak much. At all, really…”

“I suppose he isn’t your bouncer, then?”

Karaz scoffed. “Of course he’s my bouncer! He does whatever I ask him to!” The Gilnean glanced up at Karaz, and the Goblin grinned nervously. “Of course, I only ask him to throw out the people that are severely annoying him! Or--uh, or the ones being too handsy with the lasses here.” Karaz nodded, puffing out his chest. “He’s a gentleman, that Gilnean of ours!”

The crowd cheered once, anxiously, and downed their drinks.

Rhea studied the innkeeper coldly then swept her gaze to the rest of the quieting room. The patrons pressed back away from her, squirming under her stare. She shook her head, mumbled something uncouth, and moved to the Gilnean's table.

He finished up his meal, wiping his mouth politely with a napkin, and redid his mask. He has red hair, Rhea thought, very red hair, like a passionate fire burning out of control. Even standing straight, with him sitting, I’m barely his height-- "Excuse me, sir? My name is Rhea. May I ask yours?" He blinked up at her, eyes dark brown, world-weary despite being youthful. He said nothing. There were scars on his face too, small nicks and scratches.

"All right." She extended a hand, a paper in it. "Would you please deliver these to me tomorrow? I work down in the canyon. Anytime is fine, but if you come by mid-day you get free lunch." He took the list and looked through it then back up at her. She raised her brows, expectant, waiting for an answer. He nodded. She gave him a bare smile and nodded back, turning and leaving the inn, going back out into the roaring winds of the night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fritz Roughtorque gets a visit from the Gilnean.

Morning came with a cool wind and a searing sun. Groans filled the air; Goblins blinking blearily at each other, at the mountain goats wandering the crag, at the half-empty, flat ales in front of them. The sparse few who weren't nursing a hangover yelled to each other gaily, reveling at the wincing they inflicted on their sound-sensitive brethren.

Among those few, Fritz Roughtorque narrowed his eyes. The master engineer of Fuselight, Fritz was always expected to be sober; if any of the contraptions on the crag spontaneously crapped-the-bed, he would have to deal with those buggers. Last night had been one of those nights: Fritz had been asleep, curled up in bed and dreaming of his old life on Kezan. He had been an apprentice then, working under Jaza Blastwrench--a grand woman, fantastically wise, ridiculously aggravating. He’d had a wrench in his hand, about to either impress her or break in her skull, either one of those prospects a lovely one--and he was woken up two bloody hours before the sun to help with the teleporter, which had had a mountain goat wander halfway into it and blow it’s guts around the sensitive tech. Damned idiot animals.

While it was one of those days, Fritz was still caught off-guard when the Gilnean came to his corner of Fuselight’s main building with Rhea’s list of items.  
Fritz had always had an appreciation for the human--he held himself with silent dignity, never speaking, never volatile. He kept himself in peak physical condition through exercise, waking up at earlier hours than most of the sober Goblins. He never took too much food, he minded his own business, and the only times Fritz had seen him interfere with anything was when one of the male patrons got too handsy with an unwilling lass in the bar. Then, the Gilnean moved like a snake; quick, strong, not exerting more than he had to but making it quite clear that behavior wasn’t tolerable in his presence.

Fritz liked the Gilnean, and, much like the majority of Fuselight, found him terrifying.

“Well hey there, guy!” He donned a friendly smile. He’d given the man no reason to be forceful--Fritz believed in being straight-laced, even where alcohol was concerned. No, when he spent his time with a lady in Fuselight, it was she who had dragged him behind the tents. “What can I do for ya?”

The Gilnean had a sack slung over his shoulder, the majority of the items weighed down at his hip. He wore the jagged, white deermane armor he’d worn every day since they’d found him, and a set of thin white leather gloves over his hands, one of which closed around a paper extended to Fritz. Fritz took it, looking it over and humming to himself.

“Bread, water, chisel…” his mumbling paused, and he frowned, glancing back up at the tall human. “Why on Azeroth does she want a flipping capacitor? She works on rocks, for gold’s sake.” The Gilnean shrugged, his uncovered eyes having an eeriness about them. He doesn’t blink much, Fritz thought to himself, that’s it.

“All right, bud, I’ll see what parts I can scrounge up--but be warned; she ain’t gettin’ top-o’-the-line gear, here. Had to fix up the transit this mornin’ and had to replace three generators after sand got stuck in the gears over the past weeks. They’re s’posed to be getting me shipments from below, but--” Fritz handed back the list, moving down behind his counter and rummaging through cabinets of parts that he would not admit were junk--he could fix them, sure, he just hadn’t yet, that was it--“they’re too busy tryin’ ta get lots of fish and stuff. I s’pose you know a lot about that, though, better’n me; I’ve just been up here this whole time.”

“S’pose I do.”

Fritz’s body jerked and he slammed his head into the shelf above him, moving back away from it with a mumbled curse and a massage to the sore spots. He looked up at the Gilnean rather nervously. “You, uh, can speak, then.”

The Gilnean shrugged again.

“S’pose that’s a secret, eh? Am I able to tell anyone you can speak or are ya gonna appear over my bed in the night-time?” Fritz chuckled, pausing as he saw clearly that the Gilnean hadn’t received the question as rhetorically as it was meant. “Ah, nothin’, uh, nothin’ meant by it; just--people bet small amounts of money every now and then you weren’t gonna ever say nothin’.”

The Gilnean leaned on the wall, shrugging again. “You could say I’m shy.”

Fritz snorted and resumed his searching. “I could say yer a lot of things, buddy. I wouldn’t exactly call you shy, though.” Gods, he needed to sort the cabinets.

“No? What would you call me?”

“Dunno--” he held up a capacitor that a goat had taken a bite out of. Filthy bastards, he thought, throwing it aside. “I haven’t exactly gotten to know ya well enough to call you anything, besides tall and imposing.”

“Do I impose a lot?”

Fritz laughed, magnified by the cabinets into a weird echo. “I mean, around here? Yer a tall, well-built guy in leathers surrounded by people two-thirds yer size at most, none of whom look like buff Tauren. You move around silently just doin’ work. The lasses might flock to ya if ya took off that mask and weren’t a nameless face.”

“Not interested.”

Fritz poked his head up over the counter. The Gilnean was looking around the room, watching the other people in there: a tailor, a blacksmith, just regular folk who did maintenance there. Fritz gulped, realizing exactly what he was doing. Scanning the room to see if he’d have to deal with any of them.

“Do ya mind my askin’ somethin’?’

The Gilnean glanced back at him, listening.

“I know, I know; I’m s’posed to mind my own business like a good Goblin, but nobody’s ever had the chance to get to know ya and at least I personally am dyin’ for a bit of info.” The Gilnean said nothing, so Fritz cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “You, uh, you ever--ever killed someone?”

The Gilnean didn’t blink at his question. “Just, uh--just,” Fritz hurriedly added, “you hold yerself like how I remember the bouncers on Kezan held themselves--guys who had nothin’ else as work but bein’ paid to break up fights and stuff, y’know? And I know lotta them got contacted fer shadier stuff, because of them bein’ good--uh, good fighters, and--and y’know what? Forget I asked--”

Fritz chuckled nervously and quickly went back to the cabinets, digging a bit more frantically for a capacitor. A soft knocking on the top of the cabinet made him pause, and he peeked his head out again, slowly.

“I don’t like to speak of the past,” the Gilnean said, calm as ever. “What I will say is that I regard you in far better a light than most others here, because you work hard and you aren’t raucous in the few times I’ve seen you drunk.” Fritz smiled, shuffling a bit on his feet, uncomfortable but slightly more at ease. “Do you have any that work?” the Gilnean added.

“Any wha?”

“Capacitors.”

“Oh! Right, yes, sorry--” Fritz ducked back down, rummaging another few minutes. The proto-blaster needed a new coil--the copper wire had rusted because his idiot apprentice forgot it was in his pockets and bet the bar he could hold his breath in a barrel of beer for a full two minutes--the toy chicken had lost its internal combustor after it’d been trampled, oops, but--oh! But yes, the coil for that could go into the blaster, and then--wait, no, what was he here for again? Organizing. No, that’d be later in the day--capacitor, that was it.

He crawled almost fully into the cabinets, tossing most of the contents out, but finally found a model he’d started repairing and had stopped when newer models had come in.  
“Did Rhea specify if she needed a 3.4 or is a 3.2 fine?”

“Didn’t specify.”

“Huh. Well then she’s getting a 3.2. Do you need it right this minute or do ya mind my ironing out the kinks? Got one that’s almost ready but just need to adjust wiring so it doesn’t blow up after heating up.”

“I’ve got time still.”

Fritz dug out the capacitor and brushed sand off it, then turned around to his work-desk, setting it down and taking his goggles from their perch.

From outside, a small commotion was heard, followed by a yelp and a furious storm of curses, and finally Sally Gearwell, the day innkeeper (and a far more respectable one than Karaz) came in, fuming and holding her arm.

“Ah--Gilnean, buddy, there ya are; I’d heard you’re goin’ down to Rhea’s rock pit excavation thingy--whatever!” She seethed, squeezing her arm. The Gilnean had turned to see her. There were voices clamoring outside and the annoyed braying of a mountain goat.

Fritz glanced back at her, goggles making his eyes look like huge eggs. “Sally--” he started, never having seen her this mad, except after her brother Snezzy had taken all her gold and skipped town with his mistress. Sally turned her piercing gaze on him. “Uh--hi; what’s up?”

“What’s up?” she said, rolling up her sleeve and showing a set of teeth marks on her arm. “What’s up is we have a goddamn goat infestation up here! I’m tryin’ to push through furry rumps to get to say bye to Mr. Tall Man here and in swattin’ the horned bastards, one took me for an appetizer!”

Fritz blinked. “I mean, you are pretty appetizing, Sal.”

“I know that, Fritzy, and--ooh, you really think so?” She blushed and grinned for him. Fritz chuckled; she wasn’t hurt more than her pride, good enough for him.

“First of all,” she said, turning back to the Gilnean, “I made ya some bread rolls for the trip, because when Rhea asks for stuff she usually doesn’t give it back--or Ogres’ll get you and that’d be sad and nice knowin’ ya, I guess.” She shrugged and handed him a small basket full of what smelled, to Fritz, like food fit for the Titans themselves. “And,” she added more pointedly, “I was gonna ask you if you could see about clearin’ some of those goats outta here? They’re such bastards.” She huffed and went back to nursing her poor arm. The Gilnean nodded, going outside.

Fritz went back to working on the capacitor. Sally went over to him, leaning on the counter, making sure to accentuate her upper half if he looked up at her. He did not.

“Whatcha workin’ on, Fritzy?”

“Removing the top offa this, then gotta reconnect wiring, double-check transistors, make sure that the overdraw isn’t gonna store backups--”

“Sounds complicated,” she said, interrupting him, trying to sound interested and sort of succeeding. He didn’t turn back around to see her and she sighed to herself.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he replied, “still, it’s better than Gnomish engineeri--”

From outside, a bleating was heard, surprised, then angry, then painfully submissive. The two started, and Sally moved back to the door, looking out, seeing the Gilnean guiding a protesting goat by the horns out of the middle of the road, the others anxiously following. She fanned herself in the glaring heat of the sun, glancing back to Fritz, pouting slightly he wouldn’t ever be able to man-handle the goats like that. Fritz had gone back to work--already? At least he was hard-working, she thought, and talented too. Always good bonuses.

Sally let Fritz work, watching the town as it moved. It was, truly, a well-oiled machine; everyone had their place, everyone shifted through and did their part, and everyone just seemed to belong, even the ones she detested.

Everyone but one person.

She sighed. Perhaps it was for the best the Gilnean left.

The main goat turned and bleated at him angrily again as he let go of its horn. He kept his ground, seeming perfectly calm--but, as she noticed with a sudden shiver, his hand had curled into a trembling fist. The animal bleated again reproachfully and turned away to graze on the half-dead plant-life on the crag. He walked back to the building calmly, hand relaxed again.

Fritz’s voice cut in with a resounding “HA!” and Sally started, looking around at him. He turned around with the finished capacitor--and the combination of his egg-eyes and the school-boy grin on his face made her burst into a sweet laugh. The Gilnean moved to his counter, and Fritz started to hand over the machinery--then paused with an impish grin.

“Did Rhea give ya any kind of gold to pay with, pal?” The Gilnean paused then shook his head no. “Ah,” Fritz continued, “that is a pity. Because my work ain’t free; I gotta make a living, you know.”  
The Gilnean’s eyes narrowed and he started to reach into his pocket for any coin he could find.

“Ah, ah, ah! No; that’s fine. I like to think we’re on a bit friendlier terms, sir, so I ain’t askin’ you for coin, okay?” The Gilnean paused again, then let his hand drop down to his side again. “Just got another question, if you don’t mind. Mostly so Sally can get her bets all settled.” Fritz winked at Sally and she giggled.

“Uh, so! Mr. Gilnean--would you mind just sayin’ anything that comes to mind, so she can hear ya talk?”

“Anything that comes to mind, Fritz, so that Sally can hear me talk.”

Sally gasped and grinned so large Fritz almost worried her face would split. Forgetting how unnerving the Gilnean usually was, she grabbed onto the leathers on his arm, tugging.  
“OOH! C’mon, you’ve gotta speak in front of Karaz, please, please! I gotta see the look on his face; oh, it’d be like if I slapped the hell outta him; it’d be great--”

The Gilnean, as Fritz noted with alarm, had tensed into a defensive stillness as Sally latched on to him. The Goblin man quickly dashed around from behind his desk, pulling her off him and onto his own arm, grinning nervously.

“Sal,” he said, “he’s got somewhere to be, y’know.”

“Oh, right,” she said, sobering up then breaking into triumphant giggles again. “Sorry about that, handsome.” The Gilnean’s eyes wrinkled slightly, as if with a smile, but whatever humor took up the rest of his covered face, it didn’t reach his gaze, not fully. Fritz repressed a shudder, noting just how smoothly he’d gone back to a sense of calmness--but alert, as Fritz now realized, perfectly alert; always on edge, and ready. Ready for what, though?

The Gilnean bowed smoothly, putting the capacitor away in the sack of Rhea’s items. “I have everything I need,” he said, his voice soft and smooth and deep. “So I will be going, now. Thank you for letting me stay in the inn, Sally.”

“Oh sure, sure,” she said, smiling but clinging to Fritz’s arm tighter. She noticed it too, he thought.

The Gilnean nodded to Fritz. Fritz smiled and nodded back. The Gilnean turned, put on his goggles, and walked out of the building and through the street, gliding around everyone bustling by. He made it to the border, the guards paying him little mind, and left Fuselight without a second thought.

Sally let out a deep, shuddering breath and nuzzled Fritz’s shoulder, mumbling, “And I thought he was spooky when he was quiet.” Fritz patted her arm and she looked up at him, wrinkling her nose. “I’m no delicate flower, y’know.”

Fritz nodded, feigning innocence. A slow smirk broke onto her face and she kissed his cheek, letting go of his arm. “I’ve gotta get back to work--maybe, though, afterwards, you could pause all this grand engineering and see me?”

She winked and slipped out the door, knowing already what his answer would be. Fritz blushed and sighed blissfully, moving back to the cabinets and starting to clean.

Maybe today wasn’t going to be so bad after all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twilight Cultist Commander Broderick Redmane discovers an old enemy alive and well.

Broderick Redmane regretted many decisions in his life. He regretted marrying the foolish hag he’d chained himself to. He regretted missing the birth of his son due to taking extra shifts as one of the former royal guard. He regretted not leaving Gilneas before the wolves came. Most importantly, he regretted that he’d not realized the truth sooner.

He did not, for a moment, regret his joining the Twilight’s Hammer in their efforts to bring the Void to an ultimate power, ending the Azeroth that they knew now. The world, after all, held so much bloodshed, so much violence and suffering and war; why keep it on this path of hateful self-destruction?

He had wandered away from the Gilnean refuge in Darnassus, alone and disillusioned, slipping through the cracks of surveillance and memory. Some missed him, but never did they suspect his treachery--they merely assumed he had perished with his family in the evacuation. He had chartered a flight to Darkshore with what little gold he had left and wandered down the edge of the beach. It had been the stillness of night, all the stars above shining, the waves lapping at the shore methodically, the woods to his left up the beach dark and full of hungry eyes. He had no idea where he was going, but some subconscious voice prompted him onwards, promising sweetness, stillness, quiet. An end to the wars fought endlessly over who owned what land.

When he came to the cultist encampment, they were waiting for him.

A great pillar of purple crystals, corrupted with the Void, stood radiating dull light. Tents were set up, maps and alchemy in them, plans, supplies, tools. Water elementals below the outcropping of land writhed as their waters were converted, but Broderick paid them little attention. Likewise did he overlook the Night Elf priestess, virginal and yet also motherly, as all Elves seemed to be, light blue hair strewn about the alter where she lay, pale, gasping weakly for breath that left so quickly. The Voice spoke softly that sacrifice was needed for peace, and Broderick agreed, eyes moving on as quickly as they looked in the first place.

Azerynn, the High Cultist, had looked up from the Moon Priestess, setting down the ritual dagger he was using and moved to Broderick, welcoming him with an embrace. Broderick had been surprised how warm the man was in his thin black robe despite the cold ocean wind. The other cultists around smiled, bowing to him, welcoming him.

“I was told you were coming soon,” Azerynn had said, voice soft and warm. Nothing in the world would have made him an object of hatred to Broderick. “I am glad you made it so quickly.” Broderick thought to himself that it had felt like hours, and Azerynn chuckled.

“Nonsense, friend; time is just a grand illusion. All things happen at once; things come and things go. We are the lucky ones who initiate those mechanisms of creation and destruction.” Broderick blinked, unsure what he had said and what he had thought. Azerynn only seemed to smile under his cowl, the red glint of his eyes tightening in humor.

Broderick Redmane was welcomed, given robes, given food and shelter, and sent through a portal of darkness the next day to begin his training on Mount Hyjal. Every task asked of him, no matter how vile, he completed without question or remorse. He progressed quickly, gaining the praise of his instructors and one of two of their masters. While he was still comparatively young in his new life, he was awarded command of a small troop, going out to do what his superiors considered a rather easy assignment--gather information from the Badlands desert on Titan artifacts, and (as all troops were expected to do) see what recruits could be gathered.

No one had expected the situation to become anything more than that, and so when Lethrena, Broderick’s second-in-command, came to him telling him they had spotted a lone traveler out of Fuselight, it was treated with the same calm reserve that any other matter was. After all, the traveler, like any they encountered, would have two options: serve, or be killed in the name of the Masters.

Broderick stepped out of his tent and into the midday sun, wincing slightly at the sudden rush of hot air the desert sands blew into camp. They had stationed themselves in a valley just outside of Fuselight, and had blessedly not been discovered yet. Broderick was confident they could take Fuselight soon--but they were a small troop, and relatively wet-behind-the-ears still. If he took Fuselight, it would be without heavy losses; no sense having the town if there was no one left in it. No pyrrhic victories, not for Broderick Redmane--only conquest or defeat.

“He came down the path a few minutes ago,” Lethrena was commenting. She was one of the Sin’dorei--a Blood Elf, slim and proud and, much to Broderick’s satisfaction, as cruel as she was beautiful. Her long yellow hair was covered by a hood, though her long ears did point up through the holes in the top. Her pale skin went mostly unseen under her robes, save for what was illuminated by her green eyes. “He’s not walking fast at all--stopping every now and then to check a paper; directions, I think.”

“Good, good. Another Goblin would be welcome around here. At least their ears and eyes, if not a fresh trainee.”

“He’s not a Goblin, sir.”

Broderick paused, raising a brow. Now he was interested.

“What is he, then?”

“Human, from what we can make out by telescope.”

Broderick nodded, striding through the camp, Lethrena at his side keeping pace. That was another thing he liked about her--whoever she was walking with, she could keep up. It was always an aggravation to wait for Gnomes or Goblins or Dwarves when he had somewhere to be, and although Lethrena was relatively his height, he had seen her keep pace with Tauren before, and knew he could walk as fast as he damn well pleased without any inconvenience.

“Anyone sent out to meet him, yet?”

“Yes, sir, as per your orders for any traveler. The usual three.”

Broderick smiled. They hadn’t found too many travelers to intercept from Fuselight, but when there were, the camp sent out a camp of three of the craftiest men--Rezan, a Troll, extremely proficient with daggers, as Broderick had found out with some surprise, Lothun, a Tauren, whose hide was hard to pierce with even an arrow flying true (they had tested that and found it buried not even two inches into his shoulder, a very easy wound to heal), and Gavin, a Gnome, whose tiny stature compared to the two tallest men in camp made for an almost comical sight, until one of his devices exploded and took off some of your fingers. Broderick had sent home a few trainees that Gavin had blasted for mocking him, and found their pieces later.

All in all, a wonderfully competent team that no one and nothing could have disrupted.

He passed through the camp quickly, though noted to Lethrena in low tones how good it was to see everyone working; Redric writing up runes, Massar enchanting them, Kerie hacking up chunks of goat for dinner, Kazarus dissolving the last bits of flesh from the last unfortunate Goblin--they’d get quite fantastic reagents from them, after all--and finally coming upon Goran on his shift watching the telescope and anything happening they could take advantage of.

“Have they reached him yet?” Broderick said, standing behind Goran, realizing only after the young man started hard that he had been engrossed in watching the road. Broderick chuckled and patted him on the shoulder, easing the lad. Goran shook his head, standing from the meager stool he had and stretching.

“Take a look for yourself, sir; they’re almost upon him.”

“Why thank you--it’s always a pleasure to watch professionals at work, you know,” Broderick said, sitting and leaning over slightly to the eye-piece. Lethrena stood by him silently, looking out at the road--Broderick wondered if her Elf-eyes could see that far (his certainly couldn’t) and steadied the telescope, looking at the road, at the base of the mountain, at the three of his men, yes, where was this traveler though? Ah! There he w--

Broderick’s breath caught, creating a jagged wheeze in his chest, and he jerked back so hard he fell back off the stool and onto the dusty earth.

Lethrena was the first to reach him, alarmed, picking him up and dusting him off. Goran looked nervous; the rest of the camp had stopped to watch their leader. Broderick stood pale, looking at the road in the distance, then furiously sat again, putting his eye back to the telescope and seeing the traveler again.

There was no mistaking him. A full-body shudder ran through Broderick Redmane, something none at the camp had ever seen before. Lethrena put a hand on his shoulder cautiously.

“Sir?”

“Is there any way to call them back to camp now?” he asked, the words tasting like dust in his mouth. Lethrena opened her mouth to say something and shut it again dumbly. Broderick looked up at her, eyes so wildly different she took a step away from him. “Lethrena, is there?!”

“N-- No, sir; we don’t communicate with them once they’re out there. We have the runic communication our scryers have set in, to talk to other camps--”

Broderick had already gone back to the telescope, intent, a man possessed. Lethrena glanced around the camp, and they all looked back at her equally shaken. She straightened her back, moving to her commander again.

“Sir, what exactly is the matter?”

“That man, there. The traveler. He is the matter.”

“How so, sir? Do you know him?”

Broderick shuddered again. “No,” he said, “not in person, else I’d be lying in a ditch right now, a corpse for the earth to eat.” Goran looked more and more nervous, and Lethrena motioned for him to go help around the camp. He ran off, and she leaned down closer to Broderick.

“Who is he, and can we deal with him?”

Broderick didn’t take his eye from the telescope, which showed his men getting closer, though they hadn’t made contact with the traveler yet.

“He was called the Ghost of Gilneas; a myth, an urban legend, a boogeyman for adults. He was blamed for assassinations, information leaking to the public; anything that happened that shouldn’t have. People dying in guarded, locked rooms; people vanishing without a trace--”

“Sir. All due respect, but that sounds like a fairy tale.”

“Yes, it does, doesn’t it? But I’ve seen him, personally. Back when I was a guard to the King--I was talking to Addarus Silversmith, a fellow guard, decent enough man except found out later he was part of the Gilnean Underground--was on, on guard duty with him--” the Ghost had seen his men now, Broderick was sure of it, “--and talking. He commented something about the oncoming storm--we were stationed out at the bridge before Greymane Manor--and I looked to the clouds for just a split second. When I turned back around, he was spluttering blood, his throat sliced open, and the Ghost there in his white deer armor was just fading back into the shadows of the cliffside. I lost him completely somehow. There were sightings, posters; he was a real man.”

“Sir, could--”

“He was left in Gilneas though, to die; I saw it, just a glimpse, on the boat; Genn ordered we set sail and he was still on shore, with the Forsaken gathering around; I saw that armor--”

“Sir!”

Broderick turned, standing up violently fast, causing Lethrena to step back again nervously. He stood still, and after a moment she realized he was waiting for her to speak, tense as he was.

“P-- Perhaps it is simply a man trying to look like this Ghost in order to keep safe? That he might be mistaken for him and so no one would come near him?”

Broderick remained quiet a long moment, pondering this, then shook his head. “No,” he said finally, “no--that armor is made of white deermane. I’d recognize it anywhere; it’s native to Gilneas, and damnably rare. Having a set is legal but killing the deer isn’t; I don’t know what idiotic loophole it is, but it made it significantly his and his alone. And before you ask: to the best of my knowledge the population of white deer was killed off by the plague the Forsaken spread through there.”

Lethrena nodded, looking back to the road. Broderick sat down again, brooding, before finally putting his eye to the telescope again. Lethrena cleared her throat, about to talk, but he started musing again:

“The best case is that he simply evades them and goes on his way. He might just be looking to get somewhere and he’ll just go off on his own thinking they’re travelers. They look like travelers, after all--” the three went out in tattered cloaks that always hid their Twilight robes-- “but if they engage him, there’ll be broken bones, concussions, whatever amount of force, if not three corpses on the road-side for the carrion.”

“Sir,” Lethrena said, soft, almost timid now, which made him start from his musing; she was never timid. “If this man is as bad as you say, what can we do?”

Broderick blinked at her, then at the rest of the frozen camp. He took for granted their various ages and skills; they always seemed as though they were far more experienced than he ought to remember they were, and, loyal or not, they now were looking to him to lead. Lead he must; lead he would.

Bolstering himself up again, he offered a calm smile to his second-in-command and the camp, voice steadied: “Whether or not this is the same rogue I’m thinking of, he’s no different to any other. He’ll be one of us or he’ll be broken down into things we can use. If he kills our men, he’ll see their robes and surmise there’s a camp near.

“Ilious--” one of the rune-casters hastily stood at attention. “I want you to start preparing a portal to our brethren in the Gorge. If it’s too much of a strain, then have Varos help you; I understand the issue of distance can be tricky when still learning, but I have faith you’ll get it done well.” The lad nodded, turning to work.

“Should the need arise, we need to be ready to go in minutes. No panicking, no worrying, simply relocation. Pack, now, all we can.”

The camp became a whirl of energy, though Lethrena pointed out to all to stay calm and move quickly but with purpose. Broderick turned back to the telescope, watching, waiting. A thousand thoughts were moving through him, but he didn’t hang on to any; he had to remain alert.

The Ghost had vanished entirely.

Broderick breathed out slowly but not any less tense. The man might be coming their way, after all. His three were looking around the road, disheartened, completely unaware of the pain they had just bypassed. They’d stay out there another few minutes, curse, and head back, Broderick knew, and he had to make sure they weren’t followed.

Turning the telescope slowly away from them, he scanned further down the road, and let his body relax. The Ghost was a good two hundred paces away past the curve of the crag, walking off to his destination, the opposite way of the camp.

Broderick yelled for his camp to hold in their tasks and unpack. Relieved sighs filled the air, and the cultists returned their unholy work to their spaces. After a moment, though, Broderick called for Ilious to continue the portal anyway.

Lethrena returned to his side; the camp didn’t need direction now.

“Are we still moving, sir?” she said, her stoicism back, making Broderick’s smile widen.

“No, Lethrena; we’re going to go get company.”

“Company, sir?”

“Aye, company. There’s no doubt in my mind that traveler is him. The Masters always love trophies, don’t they? Men and women of stature in their sway, or at least taken out of the picture easily.”

Lethrena nodded slowly.

“So, my dear, we are going to get company, and we are going on a hunt. The best rogue this side of Azeroth, and whatever important camp is so worthy of his time.”

Broderick grinned, moving through his camp again, letting Goran reclaim his seat. The camp was moving so efficiently, Broderick thought, Azerynn would be so proud to see them all moving like this--and under my command! Lethrena kept pace at his side, and for a moment, the fleeting thought of taking her hand entered Broderick’s mind. He pushed it back at once; there was no place for that. There was only the Master’s will.

That son of a bitch would be theirs, and if they were lucky, he’d be their blade with which the new world could be carved. Oh yes, yes, Broderick certainly did not regret things now.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mysterious Gilnean makes his way to Rhea's camp and finds both questions and answers.

The blazing sun rolled uninhibited over the land. Rhea paused her work for the fifth time in twice as many minutes and took a swig of water from her canteen. Sweat rolled down near her eye-lid, and she brushed it away to her pale green skin. Hopefully the Gilnean wouldn’t be opposed to getting water for the camp, if he made it in one piece.

She looked back a corner of her camp, where the experiments were hidden, and hummed softly, thinking. She hadn’t been able to work on it much yet that day; the Gilnean still wasn’t trust-worthy, and him coming early would be-- well. Detrimental, to say the least. So they had to be covered up, at least until she knew he could be trusted.

And, speak of the Devil…

Rhea screwed on the lid to her canteen and set it down again, watching him approach. The camp was small, situated in the corner of one of the Badlands’ many valleys, hidden away from sight as much as she could make it. Walls protected her back and there was a huge cliff-face across from her camp and a huge expanse. There were two paths to get to her, which she liked; should anyone find her, she had another exit.

The expanse, however, which comprised most of the space in the ravine, was full of members of the Black Dragonflight. Once wards of the Earth, they were corrupted now, following Deathwing, bringing chaos, destruction, death--

The Human’s body, outlined in the distance between the two cliff-faces, alone and walking to her, made her pause. After a moment, she chuckled at herself; serious as he seemed, she had little reason to fear him. And yet… there he was. Alone. Confident. Going at his own pace. Calm despite the midday heat. Avoiding the patrolling drakes--they were a bit further off anyhow. He held an air of control around him, and Rhea cleared her throat just to hear something else besides the low drawl of the wind. The dust seemed unbearable sometimes.

The Gilnean had no issue getting to the camp; it seemed to be a straight shot, and once he had been sure he saw it, he quickened his pace a little. Rhea looked over her notes, making sure none of the important information was visible. It wasn’t. When she looked back up, the Gilnean was there.

“Ah!” she said, voice bold to mask an edge of nervousness, “you’ve found me; good.”

The Gilnean nodded, taking a sack off from his shoulder and looking for a place to set it down. She motioned over to a small workbench she had thrown together--more for her papers and notes than for working--and the man set her supplies down. He stood straight again, looking around to her, waiting for something.

The wind blew through, echoing off the rocks. Rhea met his gaze, wanting to see what he was going to do, yet he just simply stood watching her. After a moment, she cleared her throat.

“Do you have somewhere else to be?”

The Gilnean shook his head no.

“Thank you for the supplies--did they have everything?”

The Gilnean paused. After a long moment, he finally said, “all but the goggles,” in a soft rich voice.

Rhea chuckled, waving a hand. “Most of that stuff is trivial anyway; I do need a capacitor to pass along. You may keep whatever you want there otherwise; they’ve already served their purpose. They brought you to me.”

The Gilnean raised a brow under his mask but stayed silent. Rhea continued, calmly:

“Before anything else, what is your name? I imagine you know mine, but I’m afraid I don’t know what exactly to call you.”  
The Gilnean remained silent, watching her with ever-narrowing eyes. She met his gaze, guarded.

“Is that something that you don’t want people to know?”

He shook his head slowly.

“Why?

No answer. Rhea sighed. “Look,” she continued, “I need something to call you.”

“Why’d you want me here?” the Gilnean said, quiet but still piercingly crisp.

Rhea felt her back straighten almost too far. Her chest felt tight, but she’d dealt with tougher people than this rogue.

“What name, sir?”

“I don’t give it to people I don’t trust.”

“You’re not going to trust me if I keep calling you ‘Gilnean.’”

“You assume I’m staying.”

Rhea crossed her arms. “And where else would you be going? You’ve already said you’ve nowhere else to be.”

The Gilnean didn’t reply. She pressed on.

“I want you here because I think I might need help. An assistant of sorts. Potentially a bodyguard.”

The Gilnean grumbled something to himself and looked away, thinking. Rhea watched him intently. He was sweating pretty hard under the white leathers, but he didn’t appear to have any intention of taking them off. There wasn’t much that required armor out here--sure, it was a desert filled with beasts that wanted you dead, but he had been only coming from Fuselight, after all.

“Bodyguard from what?” he said finally, looking over at where her experiments were hidden. Rhea had cloaked them well, yet she had the uncanny sense that he saw through it.

“I can’t tell you that,” she said, tidying up her notes on the table for something to do, something else to occupy her gaze. The Gilnean turned back to face her again, seeming to want a reason for her vagueness. Tough, she thought to herself, he wasn’t getting one until she got what she wanted.

“Were the men on the road from you?”

She blinked. “No?” she said, looking his way. “What men on the road?”

“Three men; Tauren, Troll, Gnome. Thieves most likely.”

“I don’t know them.”

“You could be lying.”

She felt herself blush and her temper flared at this insolent git. “I have neither the time nor the reason to lie to you about that. As it is, you’re already wasting much of it being so stubborn about just giving me something to call you. If you don’t want your real one known, give me something fake and I’ll use that one just fine.”

“I’ve never liked fake names.”

She watched him coldly a long moment. He rolled his shoulder, wincing slightly at it. “Gilnean,” she said through pursed lips, “nice as it might seem a prospect right now to rob you and leave you for the birds, I do actually think your muscle if nothing else will help me, and I have a very important task that is rapidly slipping by.”

“Sally mentioned I might not be returning, should I come to your camp.”

“Yes, because I need some help; do you listen to anything?”

“Of course I do. And so far, I’ve avoided being robbed and left for the birds, came here under a ruse of delivery, and now am expected to stay with someone I barely know to do work you won’t tell me about and protect from things I can’t know about. I’m cautious.”

“Give me a name and I can explain things a bit better.”

The Gilnean blinked under his hood. Rhea’s eyes were furious and after a moment his took an edge of a smile, appreciating her tenacity.

“Kas.”

She nodded. “Kas, then. Since you’ve now wasted the time I’d need to explain things better, I need your help with a few things first. I am--” Rhea paused, looking him over again, thinking one last time before it was too late to change her mind. He had no kinds of ties or affiliations as best she could tell. He had been in the Badlands in Fuselight before her. He couldn’t be an agent of the Black Dragonflight. It wouldn’t add up. She took a breath and started again, anger dropping into calm and unwavering science.

“I am experimenting with black dragons. Specifically, I am interested in how they procreate. My current experiments require plenty of black dragon eggs, which is why I am here in Lethlor Ravine. I’d gather the eggs myself, but I think I’d rather not tangle with any of the drakes that might come down, if that’s quite all right? You, on the other hand, look like you can take care of yourself. The eggs I’ve seen are along the edges. Not all of them have guardians, but the ones that do--well. They don’t seem to appreciate being stolen. Whatever number you get would be fine; a limit of twelve at most?”

Kas nodded slowly.

“I need to ask another favor of you, one a bit more grisly. I need you to obtain the bodies of the black dragon whelplings that fly nearby. Slay them, and bring the corpses to me.”

His eyebrow raised high. She held his gaze until finally he nodded again. She smiled slightly and let out the breath holding her chest up, turning to her notes. Kas went to the sack and took out everything in it, setting it aside on the table, the food covered and smelling delicious. Rhea’s stomach grumbled and she suddenly beamed looking over the display.

Kas slung the sack over his shoulder and set out into the ravine.

Rhea took a bread roll out and started to nibble on it, looking over her notes. What an annoying, stubborn--

She sighed. He had a reason to be as he was, no doubt. No one is born like that; it comes in time with damage. Lots of damage. She frowned to herself and nibbled more of the roll, glancing over her back at the expanse beyond her camp. The drakes would be problematic, if he ran into them; his armor wasn’t fire-proofed, from the looks of it, and he didn’t seem to be carrying weapons--though Rhea knew well that anyone dressed like that was carrying something or other. Something on their person could kill you, and if not something extraneous, then they were either pretenders or skilled open-handed.

Kas went along the edge of the ravine, where the cliffs started up, collecting the eggs. Large as they were, the sack was larger, and he managed to put in three without any real issue, avoiding the spines growing out from the tops.

Then, a drake saw him. A screech filled the air, and the massive ebon body dived for him.

“Shit,” Rhea mumbled, not even trying to sprint; no matter how she could get there, it’d be too late. He was a goner.

As she watched, Kas placed the sack aside on the rocky ground, standing still as the huge Dragon came. He seemed to simply accept fate--then he moved, so quick she barely registered, the Drake flailed in surprise and tried to turn after him, but its momentum propelled it into a hard landing on the ground. In the split second before its recovery, Kas moved in again, close to the head, and Rhea heard another screech fill the air before being cut off abruptly. The ebon’s wings shuddered then fell to the ground limp. Kas moved back to the sack, and Rhea got a glimpse of two daggers coated in crimson being cleaned and tucked away again.

She sat down at her work-table, notes forgotten for the moment, resting her chin in one hand. Thoughts came and went quickly: trust, security, reliability, secrecy, safety…

She turned back to her hidden experiments, listening to the black whelplings yip and squawk. She wasn’t proud of needing them slaughtered, but if they grew up, they’d be more enemies against her--and, she could study the corruption at earlier, more raw stages. It was for a better cause, she thought, it truly was.

This Gilnean… Kas. He certainly wasn’t too willing to help her; if he was an agent of Deathwing’s in disguise, he was masterful at his art. Rhea didn’t think he was, though, but that didn’t make him exactly trustworthy. Yes, he was compliant with her requests, as barbaric as they seemed, but that didn’t stem from loyalty, she thought. No, those stemmed from curiosity and--

And a lack of care at being requested to slaughter the young.

Rhea shuddered and glanced back at him. Kas was done, coming back with a full sack slung over his shoulder, too big and heavy to be weighed down at his hip. What sort of company was she dealing with here? And, more importantly, should she trust him to know what was really going on? She was leaving the ravine soon enough--she could just go without him. And yet…

Rhea put a hand over her arm, wincing at feeling the remains of a burn. She had avoided the Black Dragonflight so far, but just by the skin of her fangs. She sighed inwardly; despite every warning sign, she needed his skill. It was simply too dangerous without. Dammit.

She finished the roll and took another drink of water as Kas approached again, setting down the eggs and whelplings gingerly by her work-table. She nodded her thanks.

“How many of the eggs did you manage to get?”

“Six--there wouldn’t have been enough space for the whelplings too if I’d gotten more.”

She nodded again, moving over to the sack and opening it. Limp ebon bodies were strewn about over six large, corrupted eggs. She could already see that the whelplings inside were hopelessly lost.

“How many whelplings?..”

“Ten.”

She glanced at him and he rubbed an arm over his brow. The heat was almost unbearable, and the sun seemed directly overhead, destroying any shade the cliffs would have otherwise offered.

“Thank you for gathering these so quickly, Kas,” she said, lifting out the corpses and setting them on a separate table. “Grisly as it is, this is necessary.”

Kas cleared his throat. She looked back at him and saw him standing with his arms crossed, expectant. She sighed.

“All will be revealed to you soon, if you wish to stay and help,” she said, resisting the urge to add a tint of annoyance to her words. “For now, know this. I am no ordinary Goblin: I serve a mistress of unimaginable power. Her motives here are not as dark as they might seem.”

Kas’s gaze held on her then turned away to watch the black dragons circling their makeshift territory. A voice in her murmured that it’d be so much easier to send him away now, but she resisted it. Seeing how he handled a full drake--she needed that help. Her Queen was counting on her mission here being a success. She walked up next to him, looking out over the corrupted too.

“The Black Dragonflight was once noble,” she said, voice soft and tired. “They were the Earth warders, protecting the very land itself. How ironic they would become the worst menace the land has become.” Kas glanced down at her, saying nothing. Rhea took a long breath and straightened herself proudly.

“I believe that there remains a sliver of hope, however, and so does my mistress. The Black Dragonflight will live beyond Deathwing’s treachery, and will soar as the Earth warders once again.” Her hand had curled into a tight ball, shaking with passion, though her voice remained detached, as she had to be. The work she was doing pained her to no end, but it was close to her heart.

Rhea glanced up at him. “I want to show you something,” she said softer, “but I need to be able to trust you.”

“You can’t,” Kas said. “There’s nothing I can do that would make you trust me, even working with you for years. A person can only trust themselves, and even then, that trust can be broken, Rhea.”

“Do you keep your promises?”

“I try to, but whether I say ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ that doesn’t make much of a difference since you can’t trust my word much more than my actions.”

“I’m not trying to debate philosophies, Kas,” she said warily.

“Then yes, I keep my promises. But I don’t promise things often.”

“Can you promise me your help until my work here is complete?”

Kas blinked and looked away slightly, thinking. He took a slow breath. “Rhea,” he said, “you won’t tell me specifics, and I respect that decision for secrecy. But I need more to work with if I am going to commit to anything. I’ve had a history of events swept out from under my and nasty surprises, and I’d rather not have another.”

“Understandable.” She bit her lip, looking back out at the black dragons. “I’m--” she paused then let out a long sigh. “I’m trying to save them.”

Kas looked out at the corrupted drakes again. His breath rose and fell in his chest. Rhea went for a swig of water and found her canteen empty, setting it back down and wiping her brow--and noticed that Kas was holding out a wine skin. She took it cautiously and looked up at him. He was still looking over the drakes and the whelplings… the eggs…

“It’s water,” he said when she still hadn’t taken a drink. She opened it and sniffed it then took a drink. It was indeed water. “I promise to help you.”

She paused mid-drink and water dribbled out onto her chin. Quickly, she wiped it away and recapped the skin, handing it back.

“It’s been a long time since I was asked to do something good,” he mused. Rhea was sure he was speaking to himself even though she could hear him fine.

She cleared her throat. “I wish to show you something. The final part of my studies.”

“Is it that big thing in the corner?”

He gestured at the seemingly empty corner of the camp where her experiments were hidden. She blushed lightly.

“Is my enchanting that bad?”

His eyes betrayed a light smile under the mask. “I do pride myself on being a master of subtlety, Rhea.”

She smirked and moved over closer to the corner, snapping her fingers. The veil dropped, and a huge ebon female drake, curled over her eggs, lay slumbering.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sally Gearwell has an unexpected visitor at Fuselight...

Sally Gearwell whistled as she cleaned the dirty mugs in the Fuselight Inn. The Gilnean’s corner was empty, which made her feel relief and also a vague sadness. Scary as he was, he still seemed docile—at least, in the sense that he wasn’t going to massacre everyone. He had a sense of honor about him, which was rare for a Goblin settlement, Sally thought—or, at least, a kind of honor that was more noticeable. Things would go back to normal, now, she thought, setting the mugs down. Or, at least, as normal as Fuselight could be.

And that’s when the Tauren walked in.

The room, though relatively empty, got immediately quiet when the bull-man’s shadow extinguished the sun pouring in the doorway. All eyes turned to see him, and were not disappointed. Goblins were the smallest of the races of the Horde--Tauren were the largest (besides perhaps a Troll man standing straight but when did they ever stand straight?) and by far the broadest. While Fuselight was built to accommodate any of the Horde’s races, and yet the doorway almost didn’t allow the man passage. His horns stuck out wide, ready to skewer, but he was used to them, it seemed (they were his, after all, Sally thought), and after the initial eclipse, he walked in without a second thought.

“Hiya, handsome!” Sally said with a grin, the same she gave to any male passing through town; sultry without meaning to be. “What can I do for ya?”

The Tauren bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement but said nothing, looking around the inn without any change in his features. Sally couldn’t make them out too well--he still had his back to the sun, and all she could make out were the broad muscles of his chest, his arms, his legs, his torso, his long horns, his tail as it slowly flished side to side--

Her thoughts were interrupted by a squawking sound, and with a frown she realized the Tauren was a hunter. A Plainstrider, with its almost featherless weird body and stumpy short wings and dumb, long neck, had followed the Tauren in. Those long-chickens were native to the Tauren home-lands, and whether it was one that he’d raised from a stumpy runt or not, it wasn’t allowed in.

“S’cuse me, sir? Can’t allow pets inside; against inn policy. Happy enough to set ‘em up in the shade of a tent outside with food ‘n’ water though.” Sally leaned on the counter. The Tauren still hadn’t acknowledged her beyond the bow. “And don’t worry about him--or her, whichever Birdy there is; the goats outside ain’t the type to start fights and people won’t touch it, unless it’s got some kinda mechanical parts?” She chuckled to herself, echoed by some of the few customers.

The Tauren still hadn’t noticed her. He seemed to be gazing at each table, each corner, taking long slow breaths. After a moment, he glanced at the bird, which squawked and put its short beak on the ground, tapping at the wood.

Sally grumbled and trotted out from behind the counter.

“Seriously, much as tall, dark, and handsome is a turn-on, couldjer long-chicken there not scratch up my joint?”

The Tauren finally turned his gaze back to her, and Sally felt herself grow colder. All of the Tauren she had met before were some stage of jovial and warm; some kind of emotion in their face to give a notice of their mood.

This one’s was blank. Perfectly, stoically blank.

She held her ground. Weirdo or not, he was going to mind her rules. The inn sat in silence, save for the outside noises, as the patrons watched, until finally the Tauren made a small gesture with his hand and the Plainstrider looked up, squawked again and waddled out.

Sally felt herself breathe a sigh of relief, although she wasn’t going to admit it. Two guys like this in one day was enough to put anybody into jitters.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” the Tauren said in low, smooth accents. His was the kind of rich voice that she imagined a statue come to life might have: full, soft but enunciated, firm. Now why couldn’t Fritzy and his nasally monotone sound like that instead?

“Sally Gearwell, owner and lead bartender of the one and only Fuselight Inn.” Sally grinned and walked back behind her counter, getting the largest mug she could find out. “What can I do for ya, handsome?”

“I’m looking for someone,” the Tauren said in the same calm voice, moving over to her and sitting at the counter. “Perhaps they were here.”

“Perhaps they were,” Sally said, keeping herself interested with the mug to avoid the Tauren’s frighteningly glass-like eyes. “You didn’t tell me your name, now~”

The Tauren smiled only with his mouth.

Sally glanced up at him and giggled, though it didn’t break his gaze as she’d hoped. “The mysterious type, huh? I love a good mystery.”

“As do I.”

“Is that why yer a tracker?” Sally set the mug down for him but the Tauren didn’t glance at it once, much less indicate he wanted refreshment. “I mean, I can see that you’re here trying to find--ooh, what? Scents of somebody, scraps of cloth..?”

The Tauren’s eyes lightened with bemusement. Sally’s grin widened.

“C’mon, handsome; am I close, at least?”

“Relatively.”

“Well, sorry you have to try and track smells through here of all places,” she said, giggling again. The patrons gave her some good-natured insults and went back to their drinks.

“Ah, it is not a problem, Sally Gearwell. I have been in far worse places.”

Sally gripped the counter with white-knuckles, pushing down a shiver. Something about this man was wrong. Talking to him felt like trying to pet a snake.

“Well, m’sorry to hear that. Can I get you anything to drink?”

“No, thank you. Perhaps you can answer a question or two, though.”

Sally nodded. She doubted she would answer them truthfully, but she could answer them, sure.

“Since, however, you asked for a name, Sally Gearwell, it is Atano Tantoren.” He smiled, which would have won over the heart of any naive lass, but Sally wasn’t a child anymore. She saw past his seemingly soft brown fur, his black horns, his muscles, his features, and saw the blue eyes, hard as flint and remorseless as winter.

She smiled as sweetly as she could muster. “Nice to meetcha.”

“Likewise,” Atano Tantoren said, inclining his head in another curt half-bow. “I am looking for a man that I believe was here for a bit of time. A human: a Gilnean, in fact.”

“A what now?” Sally said, blinking and fluttering her eye-lashes ever-so, eyebrows turned up in the slightest bit of innocent confusion.

“A Gilnean, Miss Gearwell. One of the humans from the peninsula region of Gilneas, to our Northwest by quite some distance.”

“Ooh. Sorry, hon; geo-whatsis was never my strong suit.”

“Geography. Geography and cartography are some of my strong suits.”

Sally leaned on the counter, closer to him, running a finger absentmindedly over his arm. His triceps were like stone--his biceps as big as both her fists balled up together and then some. He could snap her bones like twigs, if he wanted. He was warm.

“You’ve got a lot of strong suits?”

The Tauren’s eyes hadn’t left her face. Sally couldn’t remember if they’d even blinked yet.

“The Gilnean, Miss Gearwell. You are, as you say, the proprietor of this establishment, which is, as you also say, the one and only inn in Fuselight. Should anyone need nourishment, they come here, so I would be indeed quite surprised if you had not seen him.”

Sally could feel her knees shaking behind the counter and prayed the rest of her was still. It was always easier to act the fool, especially where men were concerned, because the smart ones were so few and far between. This one, however, was a smart one.

“A Gilnean, you say… Humm~” she puffed out her cheeks and pursed her lips and thought hard. “Oh! I think I know who you mean. There’s a surprising amount of people that wander through here; lots of archaeologists. There were a few humans with them: I’m pretty sure they mentioned Gilneas.”

“No.”

Sally looked at Atano Tantoren and gulped. “N--” she cleared her throat. “No?” she said, blinking again as innocently as possible. Atano did blink, quick and sharp, then his eyes snapped back to their positions burrowing a hole into her skull.

“No. He was alone.”

“He was?” Sally said, voice coming out slightly higher-pitched than she wanted. Just a note or two up the octave, only noticeable if you were looking for it. Atano Tantoren was searching for it.

“Yes, Sally Gearwell. He was.”

“Oh-- Oh! Yes! Yes, I; there, there was a human here alone. I never heard him mention his origins though.”

“Is he still around?”

“No; I asked him to go down to deal with the Ogres--they’re encroaching on us; ya know?--and I haven’t heard back from him yet. Maybe he’s Ogre-chow.”

“What was he wearing?”

“I dunno? Just regular clothes.”

“Not armor, then?”

“Who wears armor in this kinda desert heat, handsome?”

“And that is the truth?”

Sally forced a smile. “Of course it’s the truth; why would I lie?”

Atano Tantoren regarded her a long moment, then smiled his cold, calm smile. “Miss Gearwell,” he said softly for only her to hear, “I would like the truth. I would like the truth very much; and the truth is that you are lying. The fact is that I know what he was wearing. White deermane armor, native to Gilneas. I’ve hunted him all the way from Undercity, you see; all the way to Fuselight and here to your small, petty inn. I followed him down half a fucking continent’s shoreline, with my ‘long-chicken,’ and in doing so got rid of the competition that there is for this man’s head; so, Miss Sally Gearwell, lest I tell Lady Sylvanas that you are obstructing the hunt for a wanted war-criminal--one that the Alliance, in fact, wants dead far more than the Horde does--and you have the Forsaken come in with their plague and their rotting flesh dripping off of half-decayed carcasses, I do so hope you will be polite enough to point me in the proper direction this time?”

The blood had drained from Sally Gearwell’s face long before he stopped talking and resumed his stoic look. She stammered once, twice, then stopped and took a breath. A shudder ran through her full body and she moved back from the counter--stopping when Atano covered her hand with his, gentle but firm.

“I don’t know,” she managed to whisper. “I really don’t. Someone came and asked for his help and he left this morning.”

The Tauren’s eyes seared into hers, then he blinked again and got up from the counter. Sally moved back against the wall behind her. He bowed again curtly and turned, striding out of the inn. As he left, Sally caught a glimpse of the huge rifle strapped around him, resting down his back.

Fritz moved past him in the doorway, staring after him as he went, then turning back to Sally, frowning and going behind the counter to help her off the wall.

“Came in for lunch. Everythin’ okay, Sal?”

She nodded and interlaced her fingers with his, squeezing tight. He blushed and squeezed back, light. Definitely a virgin. That was okay, Sally thought to herself, definitely okay. Definitely better than being like Atano Tantoren.

Dearest Gold, she thought, I hope I’ve seen the last of him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Broderick and Lethrena go to a larger Twilight camp for assistance, and Rhea reveals her true self.

Broderick came through the shadow portal into the blistering heat of a once-beautiful, lush field reduced by fire to barren rock. The ground was firm and cracked with drought, and if nothing else that day would bring a smile to his lips, this desecration of earth would.

Lethrena stepped out of the portal behind him, green eyes darting about the camp. Broderick knew that she had seen many training camps before, but a full, working encampment was still a new sight.

Situated in the Searing Gorge, almost under the shadow of Blackrock Mountain, the Twilight Cult had set up more than Broderick’s tiny training exercise. Cultists worked in tandem on their projects, many of which Broderick was not familiar with and had no wish to be. Tables were set for enchantments, alchemy, inscription, dissection (thankfully not vivisection; Broderick wanted to continue to hear his thoughts and the screams were quite distracting), dissolving, armor blacksmithing, weapon blacksmithing, and a small one for tailoring, all with teams of robed workers, speaking in low tones and sticking to themselves. Couriers weaved among the groups, transporting reagents, work orders, information.

Other workers hauled fresh reagents in: mine-carts full of dark ore, sacks of wild herbs, piles of the dead, fresh food and drink. Sweat poured off their brows, sucked down greedily into the parched ground. Broderick almost purred to watch them--it was how his camp should be, and how his recruits would move in time. They were a brilliant machine, whirling along in a nihilistic dance. Nothing was more beautiful.

Down the middle pathway of the camp, a Night Elf woman strode to meet them, face covered with a mask glowing with blue eyes, a pointed hat lilting and trailing behind her with the fierceness of her pace. Where the dark purple cloth exposed her skin, there was a fair, unblemished light gray, as of the moon blurred by a cloud. Her posture was perfect; her shoulders open, back straight, feet exactly forward, hands clasped behind her back, chin high in hawk-like observance.

She stopped in front of Broderick and Lethrena and stood motionless. Broderick could feel Lethrena shift once from one foot to the other, something she always did in moments of anxiousness in front of her superiors. Broderick himself felt the sudden chill of the wind on his sweat, but he knew this imposer. They had nothing to fear; this was, after all, family. He bowed deep, Lethrena following suit, and the Night Elf bowed her head in kind, the tall point of her hat dipping forward slightly then regaining itself as she straightened.

“Broderick Redmane,” she said in a soft, full voice, naturally beautiful from her Elven heritage, “what an unexpected visit this is.”

“Yes indeed, Lady Azalia.” He bowed again, then glanced back his second-in-command. “This is Lethrena Goldenfire.”

Lady Azalia inclined her head again as Lethrena made another full bow.

“I see she has manners,” Lady Azalia said, turning her unwavering blue gaze back on Broderick. “I am happy you’ve found good company.”

“Likewise, milady. I have a favor to ask of you.”

“I know you do, Broderick. You would not come here simply to visit; you are far too goal-driven for such a menial reason as sentimentality. Time is, as the Goblins by your encampment say, money.”

Broderick chuckled. “Yes, milady.”

“Have you taken their camp yet in full?”

“No, milady,” he said, “my initiates are good at what they do, but they still require teaching. We pick off stragglers, but going against guards is not something I feel they are fully ready for--and I will not risk the majority of my camp for some lofty, goat-infested high-ground. When Fuselight is taken, it will be swift, complete, and unanimously a victory.”

Lady Azalia regarded him a few moments more then let out a soft laugh. “I am glad you visited, Broderick--your unwavering perfectionism is admirable. So long as you do not pass up a great opportunity while waiting for the utmost ideal one.”

“That is precisely what I came here to talk to you about, milady.”

One of the Night Elf’s long ear’s twitched. “Oh?” she said in the same calm tone. “You are not here to ask for my assistance in taking your Goblin camp, I hope?”

“No; no--” Broderick said, shaking his head and letting a dark smile curl along the edge of his lips. “No, milady: someone came from Fuselight and down the road-side recently that I know the Masters will be interested in. I wished to consult you on the matter and, should you deem it worthwhile, ask you to communicate my wish to them for him to be killed, if not, far-preferably, captured.”

Lady Azalia remained quiet a long moment. The camp around continued to bustle, but silently; listening. Lethrena glanced at the workers. Broderick remained resolutely looking to the Night Elf. Finally, she took a deep breath and nodded slowly.

“Follow me. But know, Broderick Redmane, if this man is in your interests simply because he is from your past life, the only one who shall suffer repercussions is you.”

With that, she turned sharply, walking back to the largest tent at the other side of the camp. Broderick followed, Lethrena keeping pace next to him. There was no doubt in his mind that his message would be well-received: after all, the only piece of his past life that remained were the memories.

<*>                    <*>                    <*>

“Behold, Kas. Our captive…”

Kas stayed in place, looking at the black dragon. Rhea’s voice betrayed mild sorrow as she spoke, and her eyes gazed again over the strict field of enchantments that circled the ebon-winged beast.

“We will find a shred of good within these dragons, Kas,” she continued, almost to herself. “Whether it is the eggs you found, the bodies of the whelplings you slew, or the eggs we have encouraged Nyxondra to lay… we will find an untainted Black Dragon.”

“‘Encouraged?’” Kas said, voice growing colder, looking down at the Goblin woman. She did not meet his gaze, but continued:

“Nyxondra is being held against her will. She is hidden from her brood, right in the middle of their breeding grounds. She lays eggs, but they will be taken away before she can see them hatch--”  
Rhea paused, noticing a low, angry growl fill the air. She looked finally to her Gilnean companion, realizing it was from him. Her jaw tightened.

“Cruel?” she said. “Perhaps--but not nearly as cruel as the treatment that their Dragonflight showed my Mistress.”

Kas’s eyes narrowed and he shifted on his feet. Rhea drew herself to her full height, voice lowering to a soft, steady hum.

“Show me that I can trust you, Kas. Take Nyxondra’s eggs, and bring them here. You may need to beat her into submission before you can take them, but please do not damage her critically.”

He didn’t move. She rolled her tongue over her teeth and sighed, thinking. He knew far too much to be let back to wander. She had already said too much too soon. Damnation.

Her voice softened. “Remember, Kas… this is for the good of the Black Dragonflight. We are here to redeem them, not to hurt them. This is but a step in their recovery.”

He looked back to the Black Dragon. Rhea watched him, firm but starting to feel the effects of all the long hours, the things she’d done, the endless drain of continuous enchantments--

“Kas.” Her voice was almost a murmur. “Please.”

For a moment, her resolve broke, and she thought she would have to take care of him, but then he stepped forward, moving to Nyxondra. She breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed slightly. She hadn’t looked forward to a potential conflict with him--he was too well-trained, from what she saw.

And continued to see--Nyxondra, drugged and lethargic as she was, reeled back and squawked and brought her head down to bite him, but all he did was move out of the way. As she hit the ground with her snout and whined and rubbed at it, he landed a quick, firm blow to her neck, just under the jaw, and her body went limp save for the rising and falling of her chest.

Moving past her limp form, Kas silently got two large eggs, bringing them back gingerly to camp, setting them down next to the work-table. As best Rhea could tell, there was only one more--but Nyxondra grunted and rose again, squawking, not fully sure what had happened. Rhea looked to Kas to see what he’d do--but he was gone. She frowned and looked over at Nyxondra, seeing the death-glare that she gave, even so drugged--and saw Kas calmly lifting the last egg, without being noticed at all.

He moved back to the camp and set it down. Nyxondra blinked blearily at the eggs then let out a soft, lamenting howl and laid down again, another wave of tranquilizers taking effect.

Rhea looked from the eggs to the man. His gaze turned back to her, calm, ready for any next task… and still not fully trusting. And yet--

“You have done everything I have asked of you,” Rhea said softly, “no matter the task, or how questionable. Our business here is done--we will be moving on. But, first… I think it is time I revealed everything to you.”

She took a step back to a wider part of the camp. “As I hinted earlier, I am no ordinary Goblin. You may have already guessed my true nature… Allow me to show you my true form, Kas. As you have proven yourself trustworthy, I will also share with you the details of my plan.”

A glow of magic swelled around her legs, rising slowly up her small form. “Deathwing’s madness overcomes him, and we, the Red Dragons, must take this opportunity to steal his brethren from beneath him. We will remake them as they were intended to be: the Warders of the Earth.”

A brilliant flash of light filled the area for a split second, and with a rush of wind, the Goblin woman was gone, replaced with the towering form of a majestic Red.

“My true name is Rheastrasza,” she continued, voice echoed in power, “and I am an envoy of Alexstrasza herself, the Aspect of the Red Dragonflight. With Deathwing currently occupied in other matters, we are going to find a way to save those that followed his corruption.

“And you, Kas… you are going to help us.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A three way confrontation between Kas, Atano, and the Twilight Hunters...

While Broderick defended his request of Lady Azalia and their Masters, his camp remained rather stationary. The recruits, willing as they were, were still barely initiated into the Cult. They had passed tests, done unforgivable things, yet they were not the truest nihilists of the more advanced members of the Twilight.

Broderick had left no one in charge, as he expected them to behave. The consequences would be dire, otherwise, and he knew they all understood that implicitly. Lethrena was taken along through the portal so that she could gain exposure to higher authorities and their management styles. Everyone in camp did their work quietly, and when their work was done, they sat, talked, played dice, or napped.

It was a boring, empty day.

Goran, however, had no break from his job. His notes of who came and went from Fuselight needed to be exact, and were. He sat by the telescope dutifully, a notepad in hand, waiting for any movement to or from Fuselight. So far, there was nothing, but—

Rezan, the Troll who went out as one third of the hunting parties, glanced up from his dice, hearing Goran scribbling something down. The lanky blue-green man stood up and stretched, then walked over to the camp’s watcher.

“Dere be somebody, mon?” he said softly, not wanting Goran to start from his seat. He was sometimes too focused, Rezan thought.

“Yes,” Goran murmured. “A Tauren, male, tall, brown fur, black horns, plainstrider by his side—”

Rezan grunted, neither wanting or needing such a litany off details. Glancing back at the camp, he motioned Lothun over. The Tauren got up from basking in the sun with a grunt and slung his bow over one shoulder, coming over.

Gavin, the Gnome, seeing his two hunting companions over by the telescope, scrambled to join them, looking up at the huge figures expectantly. Rezan grinned down at him, then proceeded:

“We got a pal a’ yours, mon,” (pausing to hit Lothun in the shoulder rather firmly, only causing the hulking bull-man to grunt) “an’ I say we go catch him.”

“You want to go out of camp without Master Redmane’s authority?” Goran interjected, looking up at the three behind him. Lothun’s huge hand came down on the top of his head, covering all of it, and turned him forcibly back to the telescope. Goran squeaked and went back to it with a shiver.

“It’s just one Tauren?” Gavin said from around their knees. He had goggles on, odd cones over the eye-pieces magnifying the road. “Ah, one Tauren and one chicken-bird.”

Lothun chuckled, having no affinity for plainstriders himself.

“Ya afraid it go’n eat ya whole, Gav?” Rezan said, grinning through his tusks. The Gnome grumbled and put an absent-minded hand on his satchel, feeling the curve of each bomb there. The Troll sobered up slightly, glancing at their Tauren friend, as a good a marksman the camp knew, who had not turned his squint off of the Fuselight road.

“Whatcha tink, mon? Take him or leave him?”

“He’s going the same way as the Human from earlier,” Lothun said, voice a deep rumble. “I’d wager he’s hunting too.”

Gavin and Rezan looked at each other, then at Lothun. The Gnome was the first to speak. “You think there’s a price on that Human’s head, then?”

Rezan snorted. “Gav, I wondah sometimes if ya not be just a Goblin dat painted demselves white.”

“You—!” Gavin fumed, hitting the Troll’s knee with a fierceness that might have done damage if his small body did not lack strength. Rezan laughed and brought his leg up as if to kick the smaller man.

“Definitely a price on the Human’s head,” said Lothun, interrupting them. “The Brave there is clad in respectable armor. He’s no youngling looking to carve a name for himself. That’s a proper bounty hunter going for his prey.”

“Whatcha propose we do, Lothun?”

The Tauren looked over at them for the first time, a dark smile moving over his face. “Why, gentlemen, I propose we hunt. Carefully, so as not to draw attention, and get that damned rogue as well as an accomplished bounty hunter.”

The other two returned his grin, and so the party started out.

<*>                    <*>                    <*>

Rheastrasza looked around the small camp. Her voice, deep as it was, remained soft.

“I made a calculated decision in revealing my identity to you, Kas. I needed you to trust me, as we can no longer stay in Lethlor Ravine. Nyxondra’s containment drains me by the hour, and we have all we need, though the supplies are precious few. We will bring our results west, to Agmond’s End. There is a Gnome there I trust; he will know what to do with the samples. Please help me break down camp.”

A flash of light and a shroud of mist, and the Red Dragon was a Goblin once more, her face showing the lines of exhaustion. Kas moved with purpose, helping her put her notes into some semblance of order, and packing Nyxondra’s eggs carefully in a sack, softening the space around them with the fabric of Rhea’s tent.

Efficient as they were, they were too slow.

Kas noticed it first. The air was still, and in the middle of his actions, he froze. Rhea glanced over at him from the now-empty work-table, seeing the hairs on his arms go stiff. His eyes closed slowly and calmly, and his head turned, as if he were listening to something. His back stiffened, and he stood full and tall, turning. His eyes opened to burning fury. Rhea followed his gaze.

A Tauren man, dressed in quite decent armor, with a plainstrider at his side and a rifle held in his hands, pointing their way, watched them quietly.

Rhea gulped, glancing at Kas. He moved the sack over next to her, at the same time stepping half in front of her, shielding. The Tauren’s rifle followed him.

Rhea cleared her throat. “Can we help you, sir?”

“Rhea.” Kas’s voice was soft; a warning.

“Yes, ma’am,” the Tauren called out to them, in an almost nonchalant fashion. “I do have something to ask of you.”

“You’re not likely to get it with a rifle pointed at us, sir,” she said, matching his tone quite well. Kas’s hands rested on the hilts of his daggers, which, Rhea noticed, were tucked in at his side as if to appear like folds of his pants.

“Yes ma’am, but I know my prey very well. A rifle on him is worthwhile, to say the least. At this range… well. I’d say the fight’s all but won, wouldn’t you, Kaskaeld?”

Kas didn’t move. Rhea glanced at him. “Who is he?” Kas didn’t reply.

Rhea looked back at the Tauren. “Whatever business you have with him, you can conduct with me. I’m his employer, Rhea—”

“I have nothing to say to you, Dragonkin.”

Rhea’s brow raised.

“Furthermore,” said the Tauren, “my business is between the rogue and myself. No one else. Now, Kaskaeld, please come quietly or I will be forced to make this painful.” A smile crept onto the bull-man’s face.

“My bodyguard goes nowhere without—”

“Her bodyguard! Oh, now that is rich. You picked well, Dragonkin!” The Tauren glanced at her, barely blinking, barely moving. “Or perhaps—ah, I see. She doesn’t know, does she? You haven’t told her.”

“Anything I do not know about Kas here is unimportant to my task. Now please, sir, go away and let us be on our way.”

“You really don’t know, do you?” the Tauren mused. “Kaskaeld Amadeus Remor. The Ghost of Gilneas. Scourge of the Scourge. Oh, you have quite a reputation—last member of the Gilnean Underground! Killer of men, women, children! One of the most quick, silent assassins in all of Azeroth; wanted dead by the Alliance and alive by the Horde!” Rhea looked slowly up at Kas. He still had not moved, nor did his grim countenance deny it.

“Yes, I’m sure, Dragonkin, that you mean well, but your company is quite interesting indeed; and so, I am afraid I am unable to let you pass by.” The Tauren’s fingers slowly tightened on the rifle.

By the entrance to the Ravine, the three Twilight hunters stood still, waiting, observing the gorgeous Black Dragons and listening to the conversation, echoed on the rocks.

The Tauren almost seemed to purr in glee. “Now then,” he said, “are you coming quietly?”

Kas spoke, voice a chill of contempt. “Are the three by the rocks there your friends?”

The cultists balked, then Lothun stepped out from behind the enclosure, holding his bow with an arrow notched. Rezan and Gavin followed suit.

The Tauren glanced half-back, an ear twitching, growling softly. “Do not get in my way, ambushers, unless you do not fear death.”

Rezan chuckles softly. “Dat’s da ting, mon; we don’t. Not at all.” His large hand curled around a blunderbuss under his cloak.

The Tauren snarled. “Twilight filth… do you have a wish to bring all the might of the Forsaken down on your head?”

Rhea glanced at the sack of Nyxondra’s eggs. It had to make it away safely. It had to. Her vision blurred for a moment and she shook it rapidly, doubling her efforts to maintain the enchantments—but she was stirring, and Rhea’s grip was rapidly failing.

“We can compromise, I’m sure!” Gavin said. “Why do you want the rogue there? You can take what you need and we’ll take the rest.”

“What I need is information he has stored away in his head.” The Tauren looked back to Kas. “Oh yes, I know you memorized every line. I should hope you burned the paper; of course you did, you’re smart enough to have done so. But I know the recipe is locked away in your mind.”

Rhea’s hand moved to Kas’s leg, gentle, sweat pouring down as she stabilized herself. Kas glanced at her. She was paler, straining. He looked beyond, and in his periphery saw Nyxondra’s bindings flare and waver with her exertions.

“If I go with you, hunter, promise then to let Rhea be on her way.”

The Tauren smiled. “I have no wish for her. She can be on her way.”

Rhea looked up to Kas. “You— You promised— Kas—”

“And what of you, Twilight members?” he said a little louder.

Rezan laughed. “We can’t let such a pretty lady go dat easy, mon!”

Kas nodded calmly. Rhea’s breath had become jagged.

Lothun moved closer to the other Tauren, cautious. “What great hunter have I the pleasure of working alongside, friend?”

“Atano Tantoren, ‘friend.’”

Lothun’s breath caught in a choke, and his smile vanished. His grip on the bow tightened, and Atano’s plainstrider squawked. Atano glanced slightly over his shoulder—

Kas moved.

Sweeping Rhea up onto his back with one hand and grabbing the sack of eggs and the strap for the note-bag in the other, he sprinted towards the distracted hunters.

Rhea gasped and instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck, the surprise finally breaking her concentration. Behind them, Nyxondra, free from her bonds and anesthetic, stood and roared, her rage echoing through the Ravine to her brethren.

Atano snarled and turned back to Kas, trying to reposition his shot—firing—but Kas darted to the slide, seeing the twitch of his finger on the trigger, and the shot tore into and through the outside muscle of his arm, not grazing but not totally inhibiting. Lothun brought his bow up too slow, tracking the Gilnean but he was too close to Atano—

Kas’s leaped from his sprint, just as Atano finished reloading, bringing his knee hard into the Tauren’s forehead.

Atano staggered back with a yell, a large paw going to his face, a lump already swelling and a trickle of blood matting the fur. Kas staggered as he landed and, for a split second, Rhea thought he would fall over and that they would be shot. Kas regained his balance with surprising grace, quickening his pace again.

The plainstrider let out a screech and sprinted after him, Lothun watching and seeing his companions steady to catch him at the mouth of the Ravine. Rezan pulled out the blunderbuss, steadying his arm, the other taking a short-sword, while Gavin threw his bombs and mines down haphazardly into the path of the oncoming man.

Atano recovered, yelling in rage and raising the rifle again after Kas—and pausing, seeing Lothun’s bow fixed on his head. He growled, soft, while the Cultist smirked in triumph—

Nyxondra staggered forward then sprinted, screeching in rage. Lothun glanced over for half a second, and Atano darted forward, bashing into him, the bow falling to the side. Lothun stumbled back and brought up his fists—and was smashed into the dirt by the oncoming Dragon, continuing in her path to chase Rhea without any care for who might get under her legs.

Atano looked back to the mouth of the Ravine. Kas darted to one side and the other, unpredictable, that damned Troll not getting a steady shot. The plainstrider yipped and took a wide curve back, seeing the oncoming minefield, but Kas seemed to dance through them. Gavin threw more bombs desperately, landing in the array, detonating the whole thing as Nyxondra caught up, blowing up in her face and causing her to fall back with a howl.

The Black Dragons noticed, and came in fast.

Rhea felt the searing heat of the bombs as they detonated behind her, and looked to the sack to make sure—yes, blessedly undamaged—a sharp boom filled the air and her hearing dulled to a ringing for a few seconds; Rezan’s blunderbuss going off. Kas had ducked, turning away long enough to plant his in-step squarely in Gavin’s face, following through with a kick that sent the Gnome sailing—and into the jaw of one of the incoming ebon-winged beasts.

Rezan charged, yelling, sword in hand, and Kas turned again, ducking back, dodging as best he can but taking wild, frenzied slashes across the front of his chest armor. Back by the camp, Atano raised the rifle—

Kas darted behind the Troll all at once, and Atano’s round burst through Rezan’s chest, splattering the Gilnean’s white armor with blood. Rezan coughed and looked down in stupid shock, then fell to the ground, dead.

Kas ran.

Rhea held on for dear life, the Human sprinting so fast she almost wondered if he hand wings on his feet. Without direction, away from Fuselight, away from Lethlor Ravine, away from the Twilight Camp, he ran. West—towards their destination, out into the blistering, cruel desert.

Atano sprinted to the edge of the Ravine, dodging the angry Black Dragons, who were distracted by helping Nyxondra--and by the tasty hunting party they had been gifted. The plainstrider came to rest at his side and nuzzled up to him. He growled softly and lifted the rifle again: Kas was too far to run for, but not at all hard to hit—out in the open, just going in a straight line—

The slow but steady trickle of blood from his forehead, having satiated the surrounding fur, dripped down over his right eye.

He blinked and frantically rubbed it away, squinting, raising the rifle, and again it obscured his view, perfectly positioned. He snarled and shot, a wide miss, then doubled over, half-scraping his forehead further to try and get his vision clear.

When he looked back, Kas was gone.

Atano Tantoren let out a yell of seething anger that echoed through Lethlor Ravine until everything had settled again and all was quiet. He put his rifle back over his shoulder and meticulously fished out a bandage from his small traveling-bag, tying it around his forehead. He looked after where Kas had gone off to—then looked around to the sound of receding footsteps. Moving quickly to the curve of

the cliff-face, he spied a young cultist member—Goran—rushing back to his camp, a telescope under his arm, no doubt having observed everything.

Atano took one look after Kaskaeld Remor and then to the potential campsite. A dark smile spread along his features. Nobody would get in his way and live.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Broderick's conference with the Masters is cut short, and Kas tells Rhea his past.

The chamber that Broderick Redmane had occupied the past hour and a half was designed to instill fear in the hearts of all who visited it. Large fires flared deep red in the darkness, yet they seemed not to illuminate past the confines of their braziers. The chamber itself seemed to be situated in a rather cramped room, yet there was a long reverberation of every sound that went through the place, so that voices spoke in controlled, hushed fashion--and Broderick could feel the low breeze as of the wind moving through a vast expanse. There were no discernible indicators they were even still in the tent; aside from the flaps that let sunlight in very vaguely, there was neither outside light nor the presence of walls.

Broderick stood between the braziers, which were about ten feet apart. Lethrena remained outside--if he was found to be unfit, he would be escorted further into the chamber, and Lethrena would assume command of his post. What lay beyond the dim light of the fires, Broderick knew not, save for the Masters. Their voices were soft and distant, yet clear and pleasant, as looking upon the snake coiling over your limbs is pleasant, knowing it has every power to crush you, and admiring the sleek musculature.

Lady Azalia stood a few paces beyond him, almost entirely in shadow save her blue eyes. She watched his face intently.

After Broderick finished his history of the Ghost of Gilneas, he had paused a moment, expecting there to be some response from the Masters, yet, upon receiving nothing but silence indicating he proceed with why he deemed the matter necessary for them to know and intrude upon, he continued with his reasoning.

He had been, at least in his own thoughts, quite succinct and smart with the matter: the Ghost was already well-known, and would strike fear into the hearts of those who knew of him; he was an excellent fighter, and would therefore be a force to be reckoned with, should he choose to be on their side--and should he choose not to, better to take him out while he was alone and not expecting their numbers. They had many operations in motion, yes, but the potential recruitment or assassination of this man could not have come at a more opportune time to give them better odds in their fight.

After saying all he had to say, Broderick paused again, standing resolute. He heard nothing but the wind, yet Lady Azalia turned her head, listening to the Masters converse in the darkness behind her. Broderick knew not how long they might speak on the subject, but he remained with his hands folded behind his back, almost at-attention, posture straight, giving no indication he was in any way disloyal, selfish, or a poor soldier of theirs.

Lady Azalia nodded once and turned back to him. She cleared her throat slightly, not having spoken the whole rest of the meeting.

“Broderick Redmane,” she said, crisp and calm. “Your motion to go after this man has been granted. You are allotted the resources of this camp, though it is much preferred the man-power comes chiefly from your own.”

Broderick knelt down, touching his head to the floor, realizing as he prostrated himself that the floor was cold stone and not the sand of the desert. “Thank you,” he said softly. “I will not waste this opportunity.”

“You are most welcome,” one of the Masters replied, their voice higher than the others, light and sensual. “You are one of the most worthy among our rank, and, as--odd, shall we say--a request this is of us, we are willing to grant it for you, knowing of your loyalty. You may rise.”

Broderick stood. Lady Azalia turned fully to the darkness and murmured something. She got a reply that Broderick did not hear, and nodded, turning again to him. She walked over and lightly brushed off his robes, dusty from the ground. He smiled pleasantly to her, and turned to go out--

Goran, face soaked with blood, robe torn half off, burst into the tent.

Lethrena followed with two Twilight Guards, trying to restrain him, but he tore free, running in a frenzy, tripping and falling, sobbing and moaning in low horror on the ground. Lethrena started forward but Broderick held up an arm and she stopped, shivered at seeing the dark expanse of the tent, and was escorted back out by the Guards.

“Who is this child, Broderick?” one of the Masters, voice deeper and almost whispered, murmured into his ear.

“Goran.” Broderick’s voice was firm, but denoted a sympathy he reserved for the fresh recruits. He moved to the injured man, kneeling down, inspecting him in the dim light, but could not make out anything.

“S-Sir-- Sir-- th-the camp; the--” The form on the ground trembled and sobbed. Broderick raised a brow.

“Calm, lad. What happened?”

“Th-The camp-- there was-- the h-hunters left, and--”

“They left against my orders?” Broderick said, voice dropping to a cold terseness that made Goran feebly cover his head.

“Y-Yes, sir; I tried, I really tried to stop them; I’m s-sorry!”

Broderick scowled and felt his face burn with shame. To not only have his conference interrupted by one of his own, but to be told in front of the Masters that his orders were disobeyed…

“If you tried, Goran, then I cannot fault you for that. Those three cut imposing figures; you are young and ill-equipped to put them in their place. I, however, will have their hides as rugs when I next see them.”

“Y-You won’t see them, sir…”

Broderick raised a brow. Lady Azalia had come up behind him, listening quietly, judging. He could feel her eyes.

“Why not?”

“They-- There was a Tauren, coming from F-Fuselight. A hunter. Th-They went out to get him a-and I-- I followed; j-just to make sure they-- that they wouldn’t get into trouble! Pl-Please, sir; I meant well--”

“Goran,” Broderick said almost gently, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder, wincing slightly at finding it sticky with blood, “please continue.”

“Yes… I-- I saw; they confronted, there was-- in the Ravine--” Goran took a shuddering breath. “The Ghost fellow you mentioned, and that Goblin woman. The Tauren seemed to want to kill the Ghost-- the Goblin hired him, the Ghost I mean, and-- they had a Black Dragon prisoner.”

Broderick felt a rush of wind up his back and involuntarily shuddered. One of the Masters was leaning over him intently, looking at Goran. He kept his eyes down on his recruit and tried to forget the chill that was behind him.

“Sir-- the hunting party was found out. The Ghost moved like-- I can’t even fathom how fast-- he can’t be human… The Black Dragon broke free and trampled Lothun, the Ghost kicked Gavin into other ebons and they ate him, and Rezan-- I didn’t see exactly, but he had a hole through his chest from something. The Ghost ran into the desert, going west, but the Tauren hunter; he saw me rush back to camp I guess and f-followed--”

Goran’s voice raised, bordering on hysteria. “He sh-shot-- the-- there was-- a-and-- he shot so many; the bird with him bit a-and--”

Broderick petted Goran’s arm slowly, trying to soothe him. “Shhh, man; easy. Did the Tauren die?”

“No, s-sir--”

“Who is left?”

“Me, sir. I took the portal through a-and closed it. The G-Guards tried to stop me; I’m s-sorry, I’m sorry--”

Goran broke into convulsions and sobs. Broderick’s face had hardened. Behind him, he felt the Master slink away again, and he stood up, turning halfway to Lady Azalia.

“Milady?” His voice was controlled, soft, threatening to explode.

“Broderick.” She regarded him calmly as ever.

“Please, you and our Masters, accept my apologies for the intrusion, and understand that it was done under dire circumstances. Please also accept Goran here as a trainee in this camp. I vouch for him upon every mark I may--he is faithful, dutiful, and gives all he can. Should I cite any weakness, it is that he is young still, and as such, emotions still damper him in such situations of extreme stress.”

Lady Azalia looked at the form trembling on the ground, then back to Broderick. His eyes, furious as they were, were full of sincerity. She inclined her head. “I am amenable to continuing his training here.”

“Thank you. Please allow me to borrow a group of your guards here as a hunting party for the Ghost, and, should we come across this hunter, for him as well.”

“Broderick,” one of the Masters said into his ear. “Is this for personal vengeance?”

“For ensuring the safety of other camps, Master.”

He knew they could see his countenance and the whiteness of his knuckles as his clenched hand shook. They would assent for him. His recruits, slaughtered…

“Take whom you reasonably need, Broderick.”

“Thank you, Masters.” Broderick bowed low, turned, and walked out to meet Lethrena. She came up quickly to know what had happened, but he could only remark the small particulars, seething.

Seeing his arms shake with the exertion of not unleashing that fury then and there, she put her hands on his, stilling them. He looked to her, took a shuddering breath, and nodded. There were Guards he needed to pick out.

<*>                    <*>                    <*>

Midway through their flight, Rhea had fallen asleep on Kas’s back, due to the utter exhaustion of maintaining her strict enchantments beyond the time she had allotted for them. When she woke up, she found herself on her back in a rather dark place, and her throat sore and parched. She coughed and called out feebly, and at once felt a water-skin placed in her hands. She tilted her head up, took a drink, winced at the warm water, and lay down again.

“Kas?”

“Here.” He was sitting next to her. Rhea could start to make that out, now; they were in a--where? A cave? It had to be. She grunted and looked up past her head, seeing the light of a cave entrance shining slightly around a large object. As her eyes adjusted more, she could make out faint details; a large boulder obstructed most of the entrance. Kas must have pushed it aside and into place again, but she could not imagine that kind of strength in his small form.

“How far did we go?”

“About a mile. As soon as I lost Atano, that hunter, I started looking for places to let you rest.”

“How long has it been?”

“No idea. Not terribly long, though.”

She saw now the sack of eggs on the ground near them--and her companion, sitting next to her. She squinted; something was odd about his appearance--

He had taken off his top.

All of the armor belt-up: gloves, wrist-guards, chest-piece and shoulder-bracers, and the cowl he wore, were all--where?

She blinked and shifted her weight around, feeling something. Her body was laying on the chest-piece (save knees-down, propped up but the wrist-guards), and his gloves and cowl were a make-shift pillow.

“It seemed easiest,” Kas said, seeing her realization. “That way you aren’t sore from the stone.”

“Thanks…” Despite the dim light, she could make out some of his features. He had deeply red hair; that much she had already known, which in this light looked more like a dark crimson, though she knew it to be closer to fire-orange. He was extremely muscular, though not of a husky build, and relatively young. And, as Rhea noticed with sympathy and mild curiosity, his skin was covered the scarred remains of past conflicts. An impressive, if quite sad, history.

“The eggs are fine. I checked over them carefully once we got here; no scratches or anything.”

Rhea let out a small breath of relief. “Thank the Aspects for that…” She paused, looking at him again. “Kas?”

“Mm?”

“Is your presence going to endanger my mission?”

Kas glanced at her, quiet, then away again. Rhea watched him intently, calm but guarded. After a moment, he sighed and stood up, stretching.

“I had hoped not. However, I think that hope was a wish, not a possibility.” Kas glanced down at her again. “I can escort you to the Gnome you mentioned, then I can leave, if you want.”

Rhea watched him for a long moment then shut her eyes, sighing.

“Kas…” she started, but realized she did not have the right words to finish it. After another moment, she heaved herself up to a sitting position with a grunt, rubbing her head where it felt like a sledgehammer was pounding in.

“Rhea,” he said softly, “lie back down. Please.”

She blinked up at him then slumped back again. “You’re surprisingly caring for one of the ‘worst rogues out there.’”

He chuckled. “Aye, well; I am supposed to be your bodyguard.”

She smiled, though it was guarded. “That isn’t quite what I meant, Kaskaeld Remor.”

Kas looked at the daylight outside, sighing. “No, I suppose it isn’t, Rhea.”

“Sit down again, please?”

He sat again next to her.

“I understand some details may be difficult, Kas, but I need to know who you are. I need to determine if it is safe being near you. Because if it isn’t--”

“I know. I’ll need to leave.”

She nodded as best she could. Kas took a deep breath, stretching.

“Do you want the short version or the long one, milady?”

“The full one.”

He nodded again softly and began:

“My name Kaskaeld Amadeus Remor, son of Sir John Arrendalus Remor, a royal guardsman, and Lady Marie Eoan Stephenson, a seamstress of minor nobility. I had one younger sister--Katia Amanda. Much as my father did his best to train me with a sword and shield, I had much more interest in the skills my mother was teaching my sister. It frustrated him greatly--all of his family did, so much so that when I was seven, he had an affair with an extremely young woman running away from her home; something only admitted to us when he was in the depths of a bottle.

“What none of us, including my father, knew was that the young woman’s father was a high-standing member of the Gilnean Underground--a large group of scoundrels in the Gilneas peninsula. An organized crime ring right under King Greymane’s nose. It was thought that my father had stolen his daughter away--doubly damning considering he had given her a child.

“On my eighth birthday, I watched my father be killed in front of me, my mother and sister taken for things I’m not going to repeat in front of a Lady such as yourself, and was taken to an arena and bid fight to the death.”

Rhea watched an almost imperceptible shudder pass through him. She started to say something, but he continued:

“After a year of being on the street by day and fighting by night, I had built a reputation as an animal of sorts. You do what you must to survive; viciousness mixed with hatefulness and turned to savagery. I was trained by their best assassins to refine that into skill.

“Due to my small size, many of my first missions were simple observation--spying, listening, reporting back. I learned how to be disappear and how to be quick. One of the Lords in Greymane’s court, a corrupt politician of the Underground, spread word of a ‘ghost-like rogue’ able to hear any secrets whispered; my title had been secured.”

“How do you vanish?” Rhea interrupted.

Kas glanced at her, smiling slightly. “It doesn’t really work if someone is looking at me. It’s what I’ve heard magic users describe using magic to be: an exertion of will, and there you go.”

Rhea looked away. “Do it.” She looked back after a moment, and then around the room--Kas had vanished entirely.

“Kas?”

She jolted almost off the armor as he reappeared, still sitting next to her, exactly where he had been. His eyes were shut, and he opened them again as she relaxed.

“I see… is shutting your eyes part of it?”

He shrugged. “Yes and no--I prefer keeping my eyes shut for combat, certainly. It cuts down the stimulus you receive and you can act faster based on what you feel in the air and how you hear things. But it helps me concentrate too on staying hidden.”

She nodded slowly, squirming on the deermane armor. He trusted her quite a bit to be sharing all of this, she thought to herself. That was good; he wasn’t going to kill her--or so she hoped.

“Please; continue?”

He nodded. “After a few years of being simply a spy, they started training me on combat past simple defense measures to get myself out of a situation; how to start and end a fight before someone knows what’s happened, where to hit and what will happen to be hit there. My missions expanded from spying to assassinating, and the Lord helped the populace fear me. It didn’t matter who it was under my blades--I was numb to it. I have done terrible things, Rhea; unforgivable things. I’ve killed people who had done nothing more than try to help those in need, not realizing that the Underground did not want them helped.

“On my sixteenth birthday, my teacher, in a drunken state of egoism, decided he would do me a favor by contracting women of the night to give me a taste of sexuality. He bought out a brothel for the whole of our section of the Underground, little knowing or perhaps not caring that it was where the women of my family had been placed.

“I had never felt anything close to lust for anyone I had come across; couples laying in bed after copulating did not instill me with anything, for I was there to listen only to what was said in that brief vulnerable period afterwards. I had no interest in the brothel women, and my teacher grew increasingly angry at my refusals, until he finally brought out my younger sister for me to view. Sadist as he was; if I would not take his gift to me, he would torture me with it.

“I have sixteen lashes carved into my back: what I received from that day.”

Rhea gulped, putting a hand gently over his. He glanced at it in surprise, not expecting the touch of pity, which made her squeeze his tighter. He cleared his throat, continuing:

“The next day, my anger stoked like wildfire, I killed my teacher and all the others of that troupe. The might of the Underground came for me, and nearly killed me many times, but over the course of five years, I wiped every single one of them off the face of Azeroth. Not all of those who might have helped them; the children naive to what goods they were carrying from one house to the next, or the families of those villains, but all who participated knowingly and profited. Without discrimination, I was a demon come to damn them to Hell.

“King Greymane knew little of the extent of the Underground, and came across me a few times. I became a wanted knave, who had killed some of his best guards and politicians, and I had to hide away as best I could, surviving off of the land. I tried to charter a ship away from Gilneas--when the wolves invaded.”

“The wolves?”

Kas raised a brow. “You haven’t heard?”

Rhea shook her head. Kas sighed.

“Wild wolf-men, called Worgen, invaded the land, and where they bit you, you’d be cursed to become one--feral and unthinking.”

Rhea narrowed her eyes, seeing among his scars a large set of teeth marks over his shoulder. Kas noted her gaze, running his fingers over the marks.

“Yes, I was bit. Due to alchemy and the enchantments of Night Elf druids, who came to our aid, the wolf in me is under strict control.”

Rhea nodded, not relaxing at all.

“When they invaded, the Forsaken, under Lady Sylvanas Windrunner’s control, likewise invaded. Gilneas barely held against the wolves, but against two forces, there was no chance. I fought hard alongside those who had demanded my head during the evacuation, and thought myself at least partly forgiven for my past. I was wrong.

“As Genn Greymane ordered the last boat to sail from port, I was holding the line against oncoming Forsaken. Whatever he might have said to those on the boat--that I was sacrificing myself nobly, that he had not seen me and there was no way to turn back--was utter bullshit. I turned, saw his hateful gaze on me, and knew he had condemned me to die on that dock.

“I was overwhelmed and taken prisoner of Lady Sylvanas; a curiosity for her to study and understand, I’m sure. For alchemists to test things on. I broke out of my bonds in her Undercity, and went as far east across the continent as I could, coming to the Eastern Plaguelands and chartering a flight down to the Badlands, for lack of anywhere else to go. The rocket broke down midway and I swam two days to shore, half-dead. The Goblins picked me up and took me to Fuselight.”

Rhea nodded. “So the hunter after you..?”

“Is one chartered by Sylvanas, I’m sure. I’ve heard of him before--Atano Tantoren, a Tauren without the same kind of honor as the rest of his race; cold, cruel, and determined.”

“And he’s after you because you escaped?”

“Sort of. When I escaped, I broke as much of their alchemist’s labs as I could, taking with me what formula papers I got my hands on. I burned them soon after, but not before, as Atano says, seeing them and quickly memorizing them. Formulas I hope I can tell the Alliance about; formulas about the Forsaken Plague they wish to spread across the land, and what new variations they are trying.”

“Why tell the Alliance, Kas, if they’ve abandoned you to die?”

Kas sighed softly. “I’ve done so many things I am ashamed of, Rhea. I can never wash that blood away. But I can do what I can to stop more violence; do what I can to help the world. Which is why I’ve stuck about to help you.”

She nodded, realizing her hand was still on his, taking it away with a mild blush. She thought for a long moment, before saying quietly:

“Kas, I won’t lie to you; I am not thrilled that a man so hunted is near me in my quest. However, I sadly think that, as we have already been observed together, I am to be just as hunted for information on you.”

Kas nodded. “I’m sorry.”

Rhea took a deep breath. “And, I think that having you here will help ensure my safety.”

Kas raised a brow.

“You have a history of violence, Kas, but you’ve survived much due to skill. I am already hunted by the Black Dragonflight--having that skill would be…”

He nodded as she trailed off. She smiled weakly up at him, feeling conflicted about using him and keeping him close, wishing she could send him away.

“So,” she said, “when are we heading out again?”

“When you feel ready to move. I would recommend tonight. For now, rest, and let me know when you are hungry; we still have the baked goods from Fuselight.”

She nodded and smiled, closing her eyes. She remained tense, though after a brief moment, she fell into a light sleep, dreaming of home and times when her only worries were those of whose fancy she could catch and how to fly.

Kas watched her quietly then looked out at the empty desert beyond.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kas and Rhea travel -- through a sandstorm.

Rhea woke again when the dark had set in. The cave had deepened to sheer blackness; the only light being that of the stars coming from the entrance. She took a breath and sat up, wincing slightly; stiff but far more renewed than when she had come to earlier.

Her stomach rumbled and she felt around for the satchel.

“Kas?” she said softly, eyes not yet adjusted. A grunt came from next to her, then after a moment a hardened chunk of bread met her hand. She chuckled softly, muttering a soft thanks as she ate.

She felt a tug under her, and stood up. Rustling filled the cave; Kas dressed again.

“Did you sleep at all, Kas?”

“I don’t sleep much.”

She paused, glancing around--his voice sounding close and far at the same time. “Sleep’s a nice thing, y’know.”

“Yeah, well. Ready to move on?”

Rhea stretched out her legs and winced. “Uh huh!”

“Stiff?”

“Yep. I can walk though. Meet you outside; I can’t see anything in here.”

She made her way slowly to the opening, hands reaching out in front of her to find any large rocks in the way. She stumbled once, but regained her footing quickly, slipping out past the large boulder and into the desert night.

The Badlands were magnificent. The cool wind rushed against her face, welcoming her into the vast emptiness. The rocks were drenched with shadow, silhouettes in many places and brilliantly shining where any starlight could be reflected. Looking up, Rhea felt she could see the whole great expanse of the heavens; the whole dark sky covered with tiny points of light, blanketing Azeroth in gentle glory. She felt at once humbled, small, and one with the whole expanse.

A grunt came from behind her and she glanced around to see Kas standing up straight again in the doorway, the boulder pushed a foot to the side. She raised a brow, wondering if the wolf in him was indeed bound tight and under control, then glanced up at the sky again. She’d heard of lycanthropes coming to at the full moon, in Northrend--

“Where exactly is this camp we’re heading towards, Rhea?” Kas said, shouldering the sack and the satchel.

“West along the left cliff-side.”

“Ah. Then we need to go south,” he said. “I didn’t follow that edge.”

She nodded, glancing around. “Which way is south?”

“To our right. The cave faces east.”

Kas started on along the cracked earth. Rhea followed, catching up and walking alongside him. The cliff-side was far, far off; numerous pillars and crags of stone along the way. Hills and valleys to traverse, many miles… the camp was already almost a full day’s walk from hers. She sighed inwardly, but nothing could be done now about it.

As they walked, the wind came and went. A light breeze ruffled her cloak, buffeting it one side then the other. Kas remained quiet, and she herself was still too drained to feel talkative. She would have flown there, except shifting to her Dragon form required energy, and there was always a chance that she would be seen. She didn’t mind the travel, especially in a lovely desert night, but she would have preferred someone a bit lighter-hearted to speak with, or no company at all. She understood; he wasn’t the most talkative, especially if all he’d told her was the truth--

Was it?

She kept walking, but her thoughts absorbed her. Was he telling her the truth? It seemed to fit, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized she had nothing to go on save his word he was telling the truth. That Tauren, Atano, had seemed to enforce that, but she could not know for certain. Perhaps they had known each other before, in Fuselight--but the Goblins at Fuselight backed up Kas’s claims, and she already knew he had not known of her before. He’d been there longer than she had--it’d be impossible, unless there was some agent in Lady Alexstrasza’s company--

She shook her head. This was getting nowhere.

She looked up at the Gilnean man. He was moving quietly along, keeping a good pace but not causing her to run. He was telling her the truth. There was no reason to embellish some but not the other; what he’d said was true.

She frowned. Why would someone with such a background open up so much in such a short time?

For one, she had asked. Asking, however, shouldn’t have prompted it.

For another, she was now in charge of him, in a way. She had asked because it pertained to their mission--it did.

Last, and perhaps most important: from what little he’d mentioned of his past before learning how to kill, he wasn’t at all the type to want to fight in the first place.

She sighed softly. ‘Life is what happens when we make other plans,’ or so she’d heard. It was quite true--and Kas was thrust into a painful world he’d had no intention of being in. Perhaps it was cathartic to let it out in the open? For vindication? Sympathy?

Kas stopped next to her.

She glanced around at him. “What?”

“The wind,” he said quietly, frowning under his hood and mask. Her brow furrowed, and she paused, feeling the air around her. There was a little breeze, blowing against her right--now one to the left--one swirling a little around her legs; none staying too long, but--

But sharper. A storm was coming.

She glanced up--the sky was cloudless. If not a storm, then--

A sand-storm.

Her face paled, and she looked to Kas. He walked up and knelt down before her, motioning with his head for her to get behind him. She moved quickly, clambering on his back and wrapping her arms around his neck. He stood again, walking briskly, then starting to jog.

The wind picked up--small bits of sand and dust kicking into the air wildly, falling again, kicking up higher. She carefully reached back, putting her hood up, gulping, hoping it would stay on.

“In the satchel--I brought my goggles from Fuselight. Needed them for any machinery I was helping fix so that nothing exploded into my eyes.”

Rhea reached in, digging about through bread and wine-skins, finding the work-goggles and quickly putting them on. They covered the eyes fully, front and side, and she breathed a small sigh of relief.

“What about you?” she said, having to raise her voice over the rising wind.

One of his hands came up, pulling up his cowl over the entirety of his face.

“Can you still breathe?”

“Of course I can! I might be a little slower to tell where things are, though, with the wind blocking out my ears. Do you have anything to cover your nose and mouth with?”

“I can pull up my cloak!” She was almost yelling now. The dust around them had gotten wilder, raising high into the air. The wind buffeted them hard, and Kas’s jogging had slowed into firm footsteps.

“Can’t we set ourselves down?! Find shelter, Kas?!”

“We’re in the middle of a desert, Rhea! There is no shelter!”

She gulped, pulling up her cloak around her, restricting her breathing but making it manageable over the chaos around them. Her grip around him tightened. He was moving slower against the winds, each step sinking his weight into the ground and stabilizing before moving on, but he wasn’t faltering in the least.

She looked on around them--yards away, closing in fast, a wall of rising sand was coming. She gulped, bracing, and it overtook them.

Everything went dark.

Even under the goggles, she instinctively shut her eyes. Clinging to Kas, she wrapped the cloak tighter around her face. Sand scratched around her uncovered forehead, and she opened her eyes again tentatively. The goggles were almost totally covered, but none was sticking to them, blowing off as quickly as it came on. Kas’s pace had slowed to a crawl, but he still moved along the land.

The sack of eggs was made of wonderfully strong material, keeping the sand out, she hoped--even if not, the eggs weren’t going to be damaged with all of the extra padding--but their food-stuffs in the satchel were going to be all but destroyed. The bag was small, blowing rather wildly, and she knew there’d be sand in there. She gritted her teeth and caught it as well she could between Kas’s back and her body, trying to shield it--and make sure it didn’t damage the eggs.

The wind was deafening, and she pressed her head against the back of his, trying to keep the hood on and get any protection she could. She could feel her heartbeat and hear her breathing, rough and fast. If she’d had more strength, she could’ve at least given them a shield against it, but she didn’t want to risk exhausting herself further.

Kas had sunken his weight, each step firm and balanced somehow. He was making his way through sheer force of will, it seemed. If he stumbled, and she was separated from him, there’d be no finding him again. She tightened her grip, trying not to choke him, but not letting him go.

They came to the edge of the land.

She almost yelled--the whole of their weight shifted; Kas heading down and everything pulling her forward to the ground. She knew she was heavy on his back and not helping the descent. The decline was shallow enough not to be hazardous in regular weather, but in this--

Kas made it down, and continued on. The wind howled; the sand rose and fell angrily, and Rhea’s arms started to burn with how tense they were.

On they went, and time passed away--had it been an hour? Two? How many-- many miles had it been? The desert was endless--

After what felt like eternity, they reached the cliff’s wall. The massive storm did not let up, but they were protected on the left from the winds. Kas continued on, almost hugging the wall, going a long ways--until finally, Rhea saw a dim light shining through the sand.

“THERE!” she yelled over the wind, still muffled in her cloak. “THAT MUST BE THE CAMP!”

Kas made for it, and finally they came upon an outcropping of tents, madly whirling in the roaring wind but staying firm to the ground. A light-post--made by her Gnome friend, there was no doubt of that--was firmly planted between them. Kas made for the large of the two, fumbling to find a zipper, and opened it long enough to dart inside before closing it up tight again, sand already poured along the floor where they’d entered.

Rhea took the cloak off from her face and gasped for a full breath, coughing slightly, hopping down off of his back. Her arms felt like fire, and she looked around.

Gnomish machinery met them; the tent was not for inhabitants, but for the gear. They had made it.

She smiled to herself, taking off the goggles and shaking off the sand from her cloak, looking up to Kas.

The Gilnean set down the sack and the satchel, his armor utterly covered in sand. He shook off hard, and Rhea backed up a step, getting out of the way. The wind outside ripped along the tent, but it was quieter, and in the place of the deafening roar, she could hear the blood rush through her ears. She winced, stretching.

Kas unwrapped the cowl from his face, coughing and spitting, scowling slightly. There weren’t any scratches along him, but she knew that she’d rather have had goggles instead of fabric to cover her eyes. She could feel the scratches on her forehead, and the weight of sand in her hair.

If, once she was done with this, she never saw any more sand for her whole life-time, she’d be over-joyed.

Kas looked in the food satchel first, overturning it and catching the bread and wine-skins and letting the contents of the desert out on the massive pile they’d brought in. Kas already was standing ankle-deep on a small hill, and with an angry grunt he moved over to where she was.

Rhea looked in the larger sack. Somehow it had survived without any issues, and the eggs were perfect. She smiled.

Kas brushed off a hunk of bread as much as he could, taking a bite out of it and looking around the place for the first time, surveying the machinery. Whatever he thought of it, she couldn’t tell--his face still a glowering mask. She didn’t blame him.

“Kas?”

He glanced at her, coldness not directed at her but still there.

“Thank you.” She said it as soft and as sincerely as she could muster. Appreciation kept people working hard.

He nodded, expression settling a bit. She found a work-bench, sitting down and starting to brush out her hair as much as possible. Once the morning came, there’d be work to do--but for now, they had made it, and they could rest.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atano stumbles upon a set of Titan ruins, and Broderick and Lethrena have a private meeting.

The desert night was cool along the rocks. Atano Tantoren had made his camp nestled against the cliff-side--deciding it best to stay the night and refresh himself rather than continue on the trail wearily. Besides, his plain-strider needed sleep, and the long, idiotic-looking bird was the one constant friend he had.

Atano never fully slept, anymore. He hadn’t for a long time--instead dozing, resting his eyes, being aware still of the desert surrounding him and any sounds there might be. The bird was twitching in its sleep, as it always did, and Atano wondered what it dreamed of; was it chasing prey, being chased, simply roaming the fields of summer?

The cool air did not bother him as it passed against his fur. The large man-bull was well insulated against the cold, and, moreover, he acclimated quite well to the coolness, especially in this semi-hibernation. His pulse slowed, his body cooled, and with his eyes shut he set his mind to other things. His hearing and smell became acute, and his mind raced through thoughts as a leaf along a river.

He had caught up to Kaskaeld--and if he could do so once, he could certainly do so again. He had been foolish imagining the Gilnean to come quietly, yet he had not expected the wolf to comply. Somewhere deep down he had longed for that struggle, and had those damnable Twilight idiots not been there, he was sure he would have won.

Who was the Dragon dressed as a Goblin woman, though? Her scent was unmistakable. Why were they around Black Dragons?

It really didn’t matter. Kaskaeld was his target, and his pelt would be a good cape.

A scent of decay drifted over the plains, and Atano opened his eyes.

He had not set a fire, and was glad he’d done so; further down, far past the deep shadow of the cliff-side that held him, there was a hunting party out in the open. They were adorned in dark colors and held polearms with twisting, cruel blades. They were all large, save two who held no weapons, standing in the middle of them. The leaders, Atano thought to himself. Twilight scum.

The party paused and came towards the cliffs he was hiding against.

Atano growled softly, shaking his pet awake. The bird blinked and chirped quietly but was well-trained against loud noises out of the blue. Seeing its master so alert, it dropped into a state of readiness itself.

Atano brought up his rifle. He had packed more than enough bullets, and still had plenty to spare after decimating the Twilight camp. Perhaps these hunters were looking for him--but, by their meandering towards the cliff-side, they were unaware of his location. He looked over the guards--it wouldn’t be impossible to kill them all, but they looked well-trained, and he had no high-ground over them. His only advantages were the shadows they were closing in on and the wind.

Shouldering the rifle and gathering up his few bags, Atano stood, directing his pet quickly down the cliff-side, passing further and further out of the range of view of the Twilight party. They set up camp only twenty meters or so from where he had been, and seemed to be resting for the night. Atano stayed a moment longer, watching them, determining if he could kill them quietly, but with two guards clearly remaining active, the answer was no, and he slunk away into the desert.

He kept along the cliff-side for a long while, until it branched far to the right and away. Deciding he’d have a better chance of picking up Kaskaeld’s trail from the middle of the desert rather than an edge, he turned left, making his way out along the cracked plains.

He continued on maybe half an hour before spying the ever-flickering glow of firelight over a hill. Flattening himself along the ground, he crested the top, looking down over what camp might be there.

A large group of tents, surrounded by a pitiful wood-and-rope fence, was cropped against the side of a towering natural pillar of stone and sand. Atano narrowed his eyes, scanning the area--the light from lanterns throwing shadows along the camp-site. Using them, he determined that there were a few guards there, but they were lazy and themselves sleeping. From the pickaxes and shovels and random assorted devices, he determined that the camp was an archaeological one, and that somewhere nearby would be ruins he might find a shadowed corner in. He had no quarrel with these people, and would not slaughter them, but he did not want company and questions.

Scanning the area in front of the camp, Atano could make out the barest pathway leading into the hill-side. The dig itself, perhaps. Atano stood to go to it--

Something beneath him shifted, and the sand under him gave way, sending him crashing down into darkness.

The Badlands were silent.

The Tauren lay still in the darkness, wondering if he had died. There was silence around him, stillness in wherever he was, and he was on his back. It was nice, almost; peaceful--except, the dead usually aren’t sore. He hadn’t broken anything, but he’d certainly feel that later in the day. From high above, he heard the echoing squawk of his faithful pet, and, looking up, found its weird head peeking down over one patch of moonlight. He glanced around him, finding the moonlight illuminating sand. He grunted; that’d be damnably rough to get completely out of his fur anytime soon.

He stood up, wincing, shaking himself off as best he could, and motioned up to the bird, holding his arms up. The bird squeaked and he motioned again, and, trusty pet that it was, it jumped down, falling into his arms. He set it down gently then looked around again, taking supplies from his bag and crafting a crude, makeshift torch. Striking a match, he lit it, and looked around.

The chamber was large, but completely visible. The ceiling had given in close to the middle, and the two doors on either side were shut, looking impossible to move. The room had been intricately carved with a style he couldn’t quite place, and to one end, he found what appeared to be a large box. A large stone face was over the box, and Atano went to it, examining. Perhaps it was some sarcophagus, and Atano brushed a hand over it--

The lines carved in the face above turned red.

Atano glanced up, raising a brow, not stepping back. A low hum filled the room, and a female voice suddenly spoke, soft but crisp, as if right into his ear:

“Five-two-five-three-seven-zero-five-one-nine-four-three. Subject: Atano Tantoren; race: Tauren. What do you want with the knowledge of the Creators?”

Atano blinked at the face, then at his bird. The bird pecked at its feathers. He looked back to the face.

“Not much, milady; I didn’t know what you were.”

“Can I answer any queries? This is an information box: all questions may be directed here.”

Atano shrugged slightly. “Can you tell me anything on Kaskaeld Remor’s present location?”

The face remained silent a long moment. Atano shook his head, looking away--

“The name ‘Kaskaeld Remor’ is not currently in our databanks. Due to the nature of the box, if it is allowed to scan you, it will get information. Can I answer any other queries? This is an information box: all questions may be directed here.”

Atano frowned to himself. “Am I able to take you with me at all? Kaskaeld is always on the move.”

A whirr filled the room, then a circular section of the box shot up, revealing a small disc inside.

“To make the device portable, please extract the Central Information Disc. Can I answer any other queries? This is--”

The voice cut out as Atano took the disc out. It was like smooth stone, cold but somehow getting actively warmer in his fingers. The lines on the carved face faded to black again, and the circular section in the box retreated to stone.

The disc in his hand became warm, and a soft, familiar voice filled his ears. “The easiest way to maintain contact with me is keeping me against your skin. If you have a necklace, this is a preferred method for others who have used me thus.”

Atano looked up slowly, usually hardened visage perturbed.

Before him, standing polite and very beautiful, was a gorgeous young Tauren woman.

<*>                    <*>                    <*>

Broderick had not slept most of the night. His mind was full of conflicting thoughts--wanting the rogue dead, wanting his trainees back, wondering if this was just his own personal ambitions--

His thoughts were interrupted by someone entering his tent.

Glancing up, he saw the green eyes of his lithe second-in-command, and he settled again on the traveling cloaks that sufficed for a bedroll.

“What may I do for you, Lethrena?”

“Good--you are awake,” she said softly. “We need to talk about this worgen man.”

Broderick sighed inwardly. “You question my intentions?”

“Admittedly, sir, yes.”

“Aye; I am myself questioning them.”

Lethrena sat by his bedside, taking a long breath. Under her hood, Broderick could perceive a frown.

“You know, sir, that I would follow you in any endeavor, because I believe you have the best interests of our Masters at heart.”

“Aye,” Broderick said softly. “I know.”

“And at the same time, all of this is sudden. You did not mention this man before he appeared--and your reasoning for catching him, while good, lies on personal goals instead of ones we can share.”

Broderick remained silent. She was right.

“I just want to make sure I am not following someone who is faltering in their dedication; not that I believe you are, just--”

“I know what you mean, Lethrena.”

He thought for a long moment, and she fell silent. His hands clasped together over his belly.

“Lethrena,” he said, finally, “I cannot disprove the personal attention I pay to the Ghost, especially after what has happened in camp. Whether or not he himself did it--and if it was a hunter after him that did, as Goran said--and he is to blame. So, to that respect, I cannot tell you that I am not taking matters more personal than I should.”

Lethrena looked down, nodding quietly.

“However,” Broderick continued, “I can point to many other factors of our creed I am continuing to uphold. I have not violated anything regarding what we may eat, drink, or use in comfort. I have kept myself professional, and as unemotional as I can regarding the situation. I have guided this hunting party without traces of personal vendetta, have I not?”

Lethrena looked back at him, nodding, still looking unsure.

Broderick watched her closely for a long moment, feeling the wolf in him stir and settle. “Lethrena,” he said quieter, “if I were not dedicated to our cause and thus restricted in celibacy, I would take you here and now. Do you yet doubt me?”

Her eyes widened slightly and her face, he could tell, covered with a blush. She shook her head no.

“Is there anything else you need of me, tonight, then?”

She shook her head no again. Broderick settled back down on his cloaks. “Then feel free to stay here and we may chat, or leave and go rest at your own leisure. I am most likely not going to sleep much tonight.”

Lethrena nodded, glancing at the door to the tent, then at Broderick again. After a moment, she went out, and Broderick breathed softer, thinking he would snooze--opening his eyes again when she came back with her own cloaks, setting them next to him and lying down, close. He raised a brow in her direction, seeing the blush spread along her face.

“It is nothing of what you may think, sir; I am just as devout as you. It is simply that after what happened at camp--if you do not mind, I feel more at ease by your side.”

Broderick watched her a moment longer, then nodded. There was coldness in her tone, but he knew that kind of coldness, and it was not fully sincere. This was a dangerous game they were playing, alone but surrounded by guards, devout but with each other in the night.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhea and Kas meet Dr. Hieronymus Blam, a Gnome friend, who can help with Nyxondra's eggs--but who has lost a device to the Troggs near the camp.

The dawn came in over the desert, red and angry. The tents of the Gnome’s camp were piled up with sand, not so much that leaving them was impossible, but enough that trying to brought in a small dune. Kas was awake first, and dealt with the incoming sand as quietly as possible. Rhea slumbered, having propped herself up against a bit of machinery with her cloak drawn in around her.

As he tossed the sand back outside, Kas glanced at the other tent. Its inhabitant had evidently not awakened, and, having finished digging out their tent, he started in on the other. By process of elimination, it was the Gnome’s, which would help Rhea’s business with him immensely to have him not drowning under the incoming dune. Gnomes were, after all, even smaller than her Goblin form.

A rustling sound came from inside the tent, followed by a snort and a cough. Kas continued working, though the sand seemed only to fall through his fingers and back into the pile. More rustling, then the tent unzipped and a round face poked out, pausing at seeing the human. Two purple eyes blinked in confusion, and a ridiculously curvy, luxurious mustache, far wider than the rest of the Gnome’s head, twitched as he sniffed again. His white hair was a mess, and after a moment, a small, pudgy hand came up and flattened it down.

“Ah… hello, there…” he said, fumbling back into the tent and finding a green monocle and putting it over his right eye. “Who might you be, sand-removing… person?”

Kas said nothing, quietly shifting the rest of the sand from the doorway and standing, brushing off his hands, going back to check on Rhea. The Gnome rushed back into his tent, throwing on pants, and came bustling back out, waddling quickly over to see where the Human had gone to. Rhea was still asleep, and Kas moved back over to their bags to brush off the sand from their food.

“Ah…” the Gnome said, coming upon the tent entrance and seeing the sleeping woman. “You’re with her, then?”

Kas nodded, tearing the bread as best he could to only remove the sandy parts. Sadly, most of the bread had sandy parts.

The Gnome came over. “I have something that might help, with that! It’s my own model—a de-sandifier! I use it all the time in my own food. It only backfires a tenth of the time; that’s a great rate, you must admit.”

Kas glanced over at the smaller man. The Gnome grinned and held out a hand. “The venerable Dr. Hieronymus Blam, at your service! How can I be of assistance to you today?”

“Hiero, he doesn’t much talk,” Rhea said, yawning and stretching from her spot against the machinery. She stood, wincing, and brushed the hair out of her face.

“I see that, Rhea. Or, rather, I hear it. But how are you, dear? How goes your research? How’ve you been; how’d you sleep? I didn’t wake you, I hope?”

Dr. Blam walked over to her, and took her hand in exaggerated gallantry. Rhea giggled and rolled her eyes. “I’m fine, Hiero. Slept fine. Research is fine. You didn’t wake me.”

“Good!” replied the Gnome, and he moved to brush sand off of the machinery behind her. Kas stood and, moving over to Rhea, gave her the bread he’d been battling. She took it with a thankful smile, brushing off smaller grains of sand before eating it.

“I told your tall friend there to let me handle the food, Rhea,” Dr. Blam said, glancing back at her. “I could get rid of all that sand, y’know.”

“I’m sure,” she replied with a bemused smile.

“And what’s that mean, now? You know me; my machines work wonderfully!”

“Mhm.” She smiled politely, eating.

Dr. Blam grumbled and looked over at the large sack. “What’s in there?”

Rhea swallowed her mouthful. “Research.” She took another bite, taking the waterskin Kas held out for her.

Dr. Blam straightened to his full short height, looking serious now. “Need me to run the usual tests?”

“Not the usual ones, Hiero. This isn’t the usual sample.”

Dr. Blam glances at her with a raised brow. “Unusual how?”

Rhea looked away. “I had to test things.”

The words hung in the air. Dr. Blam watched her a moment longer then nodded, going over to the sack, humming to himself. It was almost taller than he was, and Kas preemptively opened it.

The Gnome pouted up at him. “Oy, you tall git—I’m not helpless down here… Ooh, science stuff!”

He rummaged through the bag. “Wild eggs? Blech. Useless. These are never any good. Ooooh, what’re these? Some sort of… pre-engineered eggs? These look promising!—”

Dr. Blam glanced back at Rhea with a grin, pointing at one of Nyxondra’s three eggs, only a little smaller than he was.

“These look promising, but I don’t want to know what you had to do to get these, my dear.”

Rhea ate her food in silence. Dr. Blam cleared his throat, going back to rummaging through the sack.

“Hmm… yes, some very nice corpses. Very nice indeed. All right!” he said, standing again all at once, “I’ll see what I can do.”

Dr. Blam shut up the bag again and hummed to himself, moving over to the large assemblage of technology. “Do either of you want tea?” he said as the metal clanged about around him, warming up for the day. “I have some good tea.”

“Isn’t it early for tea, Hiero?” Rhea finished up her bread and took a long drink of the water, wincing at it. It was hot and bland from the desert air.

“It’s never too early for tea, Rhea!” The gnome poked his head up from behind one of the machines, a large glass lens magnifying his already-huge nose. “You’re so proper and I thought you’d like some. Besides, humans drink it like it’s their version of oil! The few times I’ve been to Stormwind, they’re taking baths in the stuff.” His head disappeared again.

“Do you like tea?” Rhea asked, glancing bemusedly at Kas. He shrugged. She smiled sheepishly. “Thought as much.”

A tremendous crash turned their attention to the Gnome again, and they heard him grumble from behind the large machines.

“Are you all right, Hiero?”

“Oh, fine, fine, just the Phasmatic Combobulator decided to spill over itself and jump at me. Where on Azeroth is that rusty little git of a contraption?”

Rhea sighed inwardly. “What are you looking for?

“My particle sifter. It’s not where I remember leaving it--” The Gnome poked his head up. “I don’t suppose Mr. Brooding there took it?”

Rhea glanced at Kas. He raised a brow in response. She cleared her throat. “No, Hiero, I doubt very much he took it.”

The Gnome grumbled and went back to his search. “Well I don’t see it here.”

Rhea got up, moving over to the rows of metal. “What’s it look like? Maybe I can spot it.”

Dr. Blam shook his head, looking through the place carefully. “I know where I’d put it, and it’s not here. I’m neurotic about these things; can you believe that?”

Rhea blinked innocently. “A Gnome, neurotic about technology? Unbelievable.”

Dr. Blam smiled bitterly. Rhea put a hand on his arm. “Just teasing you, Hiero.”

“I know, Rhea, I know, just--” The Gnome looked around at his collection of work again, uneasy. “Someone must’ve rifled through here. And besides the mountain Troggs in the cliff-side near here, I don’t know who that someone could be.”

“It’d be worth visiting the Troggs, then.”

The two smaller-statured folk looked quickly to Kas as he spoke. The impassive white mask covered much of his face, but his eyes still watched them. Dr. Blam cleared his throat, shaking his head after a moment.

“They’re not smart enough to craft tools, much less hold a conversation or take responsibility for stealing something. The best you could hope for would be intimidating them into leaving you alone as you steal it back--otherwise, you’ll get a very angry group of Troggs after you, and I most certainly don’t feel up to dealing with that.”

“Then don’t,” Kas replied calmly. “Tell me what this thing looks like and I’ll go look for it.”

Dr. Blam glanced at Rhea, large eyes blinking, the monocle almost falling off as they widened. Rhea smiled, a bit guarded. Dr. Blam glanced back at Kas and cleared his throat. “Okay, sir, let me find the blueprints, then you can go looking.”

The Gnome went to a locked cabinet and, producing a key from his pocket, opened it. Papers spilled out, and he quickly fumbled to hold everything in place, barely managing to do so. He glanced through them, looking at small notes he’d written on the tops, then cried “HA!” at finding one, turning around so quickly in excitement that the rest spilled out onto the dusty ground.

He looked back and sighed. Rhea smiled. Kas moved forward and grabbed the paper, unrolling it and looking at the detailed schematic of a small, hand-held zapper, handing it back to the Gnome after taking it in.

Kas started for the tent entrance, and Rhea made no attempt to stop him. He’d be perfectly fine--though, now that she thought of it, how could she be sure that he didn’t sabotage this? Perhaps he had taken the part, and was leaving now for some ulterior agenda--

Rhea sighed to herself. Part of her would simply never trust Kas. That being said, he had risked himself to save her multiple times… she shook her head. The only thing she could do now was be on-guard. She wouldn’t leave the eggs if her life depended on it. If he tried anything, she would simply hope that she would gain the upper-hand.

Dr. Blam moved up next to her and slipped his hand into hers, squeezing it lightly. She glanced down at him, and he gave her a brilliant smile.

“Hi, Rhea.”

“Hello.”

“Interesting company you’ve picked up.”

“Yes, I was just thinking that.”

Dr. Blam nodded, letting go of her hand. “Well!” he said, turning dramatically, “since we must wait for my tools, now, I do believe something was mentioned about tea?”

The Gnome walked out of the tent. Rhea smiled, then, after a moment spent looking at the sack and its precious cargo, followed.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Titan disc manifests as a Tauren woman and guides Atano out of the ruins, and Broderick and Lethrena wake up...

Atano looked away from the Tauren woman sharply, feeling the unfamiliar heat of tears threatening to fall. The woman looked at him with a benign smile, understanding but withdrawn.

The dawn’s light started over the sky, falling down into the chamber he was stuck in, illuminating the utter hopelessness of the space. The one doorway was blocked, and the hole was squarely in the middle of the roof.

“Do you have any questions that I may answer, Atano Braveheart Tantoren?” she said in a smooth voice, placid and patient. Atano hated hearing it.

“What are you, exactly?”

“This form was carefully selected from your data-files as the one most probable you would listen and interact with easiest. It is necessary for the Information Box to create an avatar, unless you are a Level 5 machine that has at least a Level 14 comprehension expansive.”

“Choose another form, then.”

Her smile did not change. “Once a form has been chosen as the avatar, it cannot be changed for that user.”

Atano snarled, looking back again at her. “And you couldn’t have chosen anything else? My pet?!” He gestured at the plainstrider, realizing that it was looking on timidly. He blinked, looking between it and her.

“Your avian companion was the second choice, but the throat structure would have prevented easy communication, and so this form became the forerunner.”

“I’m the only one able to see you?”

“Yes. Only the ones touching the central disc can interact with the Information Box, unless the disc is placed inside the exterior unit.”

He watched her a moment longer then turned away. “So, to interact with you and get the information I need, I have to see her.”

“Correct.”

“Joy.”

The woman said nothing. Her only purpose, Atano knew, was to watch, wait, and be helpful--at least, as much as she--no, it--thought it could help. It was an it. It wasn’t her.

Atano moved over to the closed door, frowning, touching the stone. It was solid, cold, covered with the dust and moss of centuries of rest. Atano glanced back at h-- it.

“How do I leave this place?”

“The easiest way is to use the same entrance you came in from, but it would appear that your anatomical structure does not support high jumps or flight. The other option, therefore, would be to use the door of this facility and navigate the passageways to the main entrance.”

“The door ain’t open.”

“Find the circle at the bottom left corner. It will indent, setting in motion fifteen pulleys and five bands of rope induced with point zero-five-seven percent iron ore--”

“Yes, all right!”

Atano squatted down, running his fingers over the intricate carvings. It was far too dark to see, even with his torch, but his large fingers felt the various decals and painted their picture as if he was viewing them in brilliant sunlight. There were illustrations of a battle fought--of a figure in armor, wielding a sword--of a humanoid beast with tendrils flaring from it and fangs poised to strike the warrior--and here, in the bottom left, the Sun, fading to the hill. Atano pressed it, and it went inwards--

A crackling sound filled the chamber, and the door rumbled. Dust fell in heaps from the ceiling above, and vines snapped off as the huge stone rumbled upwards. Atano’s pet squawked and trotted over to his side, looking out at the arched stone corridor beyond. Atano held up his torch, squinting, but the overgrowth of vegetation dampened the light like a sponge.

A shape caught the corner of his eye, and he started back, almost tripping over the bird; the woman had moved to his side, without making a sound. She smiled up at him, then looked out into the hallway.

“You will need directions, Atano Braveheart Tantoren?”

“Just ‘Atano,’ please, and aye, I will.”

Her smile continued on her blank face. “Of course. Outside this door, you will be faced with a right path and a left. The right is preferable, and has a success rate of twenty-point-thirty-two percent survival, if the traps are still in place.”

Atano nodded, turning right--

\--and finding the corridor irreparably blocked by a cave-in. However many numerous tons of stone, sand, and vegetation there was there, and for however far, he wasn’t getting through.

He growled and looked back at the left path, blessedly still clear, starting forward down it.

“This path has a survival rate of zero-point-six-seven-three,” the Tauren woman commented mildly, walking to keep up with him. The bird squawked and looked around, pecking at the moss on a wall.

Atano whistled and it snapped to, trotting over to him again, curling in its legs as he picked it up in his right arm. His left extended the torch out along the pitch-black corridor.

“How far does this go?”

“One hundred yards.”

“Anything lethal I need to know about?”

“The floor is weighted so that any misstep from the given path of tiles will cause an immediate collapse of the floor off the given path. The weight limit at any false tile is thirty pounds before it cracks.”

Atano grimaced. He was quite a bit heavier than that, even lying down flat.

“There is also,” she continued mildly, “a series of threads made to look like spider-webs at the upper part of this hallway that will pull down the ceiling if they are moved five or more feet past their location. Recommendation: watch your horns.”

Atano growled softly, looking at her then at the corridor again. “Can you tell me where the safe path is, in here?”

“I can highlight it on your iris, if you give me permission to access your optic nerve.”

Atano raised a brow, then cleared his throat. “What’s the success rate of my doing so without you invading my eye as well as my mind?”

“Eighteen-point-one-nine-four. You would most likely navigate the floor, but your horns would catch the webbing. With optic enhancement, the probability spikes to seventy-six-point-one-four-two, rounded down.”

Atano growled softly. He didn’t like the idea of having some relic having full access to his brain. He didn’t like the idea of being crushed either, and of the two, he’d rather see better for a moment than never see anything else.

“Do it.”

The disc on his chest suddenly grew intensely hot, and Atano almost dropped his pet, hissing in pain. It felt like it was burning through his breast-bone, burrowing and searing away chunks of flesh and meat--then it tore through, getting through the end of his wind-pipe and into his nerves and shooting up into his head, the smaller parts of his brain he’d never known the names of before, lighting up a thick highway in the center of his face, behind his eyes, into them, through them--

The hallway distorted around him, magnified, saturated--every detail in hyper-focus; every bit of depth there; every bit along to his peripherals; every minute crack in the wall, floor, ceiling, and the debris that filled it, the colors expanded to their color in the most optimal sunlight--then, in the floor, the tiles glowed warmer, resonating; the safe path; the webbing above highlighted--and Atano could almost see himself going through; how he needed to weave through, and duck, turn; how easy it would be!

He stepped forward cautiously, large hoof testing the stability of the old “safe” path. The old stone tiles held fast, but he could hear beneath them the groan of faulty boards, holding up the stone only in appearance. His pet whimpered and rustled its feathers against him, and Atano murmured a word of soothing, shifting his weight slowly, slowly, more and more to the trap, away from the sure safety of the corridor’s end.

The creaking stopped as everything settled down. He crouched down, smooth, surprisingly graceful for a man of his build, making sure his large head was bowed so as not to hit any threads, moving step by step along the long hallway.

The path on the floor was not straight, but curved jaggedly without rhyme nor reason, snaking in and out of itself, spiraling madly from one side to another. Had he had less time, he might have thought to jump from one spot to another and skip huge labyrinthian sections, but he was in no rush, and the added risk was ludicrous upon what was already against him.

Step by step, inch by inch, he moved, ankles started to ache, legs starting to burn, but he did not get up from the crouch for a moment. Under him, the safe path was holding fast, but he could feel the massive pillars of stones the tiling was built upon shift, the moulding tensing at so much added pressure without use for so long. How far down would it be, underneath him? Even if he survived, falling upon broken, jagged wood, and cracked stone, he would not be able to climb out again…

He remained calm, focusing only on breathing, focusing on moving, on stepping one by one, forward down the hallway, through the long corridor, back when it was necessary, until finally he came to the end, letting out his breath and lying flat on the ground, wincing and feeling his legs scream.

His bird squawked and flapped its small, useless wings, standing and stretching but dutifully remaining still until he said otherwise. The torch’s flame licked upwards from where he put it down next to himself, and Atano glanced at it. It was not necessary now, with his eyes upgraded. He reached around into his sack, taking out a cloth, in one motion snuffing the rest of the flame. His bird squawked then whimpered, and he could see that it was looking around nervously in the dark, but Atano patted its side and shushed it. He could see perfectly.

From his other side, the Tauren woman knelt, smiling lightly.

“There are four other traps between here and the surface, Atano.”

He sighed and heaved himself up off the floor, putting the torch away in his sack. She followed him to standing, staying so close to his side. He shivered, looking her over. She looked so--

Her hand touched his arm, and that same warmth spread through the nerves there. She blinked once, almost looking normal.

“Koree,” Atano murmured. She was there, smiling softly again for him. She nodded down the corridor.

“Go on, Atano.”

He turned and moved down the hallway. Everything else seemed a blur--holding his pet--moving through the rooms--getting out into the sunlight, past Blood Elf archaeologists yelling at him, moving up through the desert hills--everything was warm. And when he turned to see her again, there she stood, next to him, smiling, her white robe billowing in the wind, just as though she was alive again.

<*>                    <*>                    <*>

Broderick awoke with a familiar feeling--one so long gone it seemed impossible to register, but which he had not realized he missed. Someone was curled up at his side, slender and delicate, smelling of roses and starlight, fragile and afraid. He moved his arms around her, gentle, holding her close, as a husband does a wife. Deep down, he stirred, and a tender heat he’d long since abandoned rushed through his veins again, burning his heart with a fiery longing.

Sleep left him more fully, and he glanced at his side. Lethrena had curled there in the night-time, still in the depths of slumber, nestled in too close for him to easily detach. The wild wolf in him let out a deep growl before he could stop it, and he tensed, pushing it all down again. His eyes shut, and his face twitched in concentration.

They opened again, cold and firm. His arms moved off of his second-in-command. He took a deep breath, cool and collected. Everything was fine.

Lethrena trembled in her sleep and one almost porcelain arm moved to his chest, clinging like a baby. He could feel her heart pound in her ribs, and let himself admire the smoothness of her skin, the sharpness of her nails. She made a small sound, though in what emotion he could not define, and twitched hard, waking herself up. Her blond hair fell over her eyes and she blinked, pushing it away weakly, not fully gathering herself.

She looked up at Broderick and balked.

In a swift motion, she pushed herself away from him, moving back to her sleeping roll in the tent. Her green eyes were wide, and he could see a fierce blush spread along her features before she threw her hood over her face again, darkening it all. He watched her calmly, moving his hands to his chest and lazily interlocking his fingers.

“Did you sleep well, Lethrena?”

She did not reply, still watching him, then looking away.

“Lethrena.”

She nodded quietly.

Broderick watched her a moment longer then got up, crawling over to her and putting a warm hand on her cheek. She gasped and tensed, hands instinctively grabbing his arm to push it away, but he held her head with gentle firmness, gazing into her eyes.

“Have some faith in me, dear, hm?”

He offered a chaste smile. She trembled once, head moving ever so slightly to nuzzle against his hand. He pulled it away.

“Get up and dressed. We’ve work to do.”

She cleared her throat and nodded, turning again to pack up her bedroll. Broderick did likewise, refusing to turn and look her way, but knowing she continued to glance at him.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaskaeld infiltrates a cave of Troggs, and discovers something very strange...

Kaskaeld Remor was no stranger to dark places or dangerous missions. He’d been on many, and in all of them, he was the most dangerous being there. Troggs were not, as Dr. Blam had mentioned, anywhere close to the smartest creatures on Azeroth. They were ugly, troglodytic savages, living in the bowels of the earth without reason or order. Finding their cave in the cliff wall had been one of the easiest tasks he’d ever had to do, and he had moved far more carelessly while stealthed than he normally would have. Of course none of them had sensed him as he approached, or even as he skirted right by them. None of them so much as turned their heads.

Which was why he was caught off-guard the moment he stepped into the cave.

The entrance itself was a squat tunnel, and he stooped low to get in. His footfalls were light, leaving barely an imprint in the dusty ground, much less making noise--yet they were not light enough. The Troggs had put down a cover of sand over a bare tarp that sank into a pit as soon as Kas stepped into it. He let out a grunt of surprise, almost breaking stealth but not quite, his weight thrown forward into the downward slope of the cave. He reached forward, finding the other end of the pit and just grabbing it with his fingers, letting his body hit the pit wall and hang.

The tarp fell past him, sand scattering among numerous spears haphazardly--but methodically--tied to point upwards.

The noise alerted the guards from outside, and they screeched at each other, moving in to check on their trap, even though no one had been seen going in. Kas quickly hoisted himself up onto the other side--

\--and turned sideways, lifting his arms, going in-between another two guards who had come sprinting, spears in hand. They all clamored around the pit, and, despite not seeing anyone, stabbed at every section they could in there.

Kas’s brow furrowed around his eyes, shut in concentration. He could take them all out here, and now, or he could quietly move on. They were far too mobilized for this to be a normal Trogg cave--yet, if that were the case, they might be even more alert further inside, and he did not know how many there were.

He moved more cautiously to the cave wall, keeping a hand on it, and left the guards pondering what had happened.

The cave system was vast--more akin to if a giant worm had burrowed through rather than a natural formation. Kas drew a mental picture in his head, expanding on it, blessing his numerous hours spent in Gilneas working on this skill, or he’d be hopelessly lost. The area twisted and turned and only went deeper and deeper into the mountains, branching off into numerous sections, criss-crossing and going higher and lower.

He stayed on the right-most path; worse to worse, he could cycle through right to left, along the many miles of tunneling. It was pitch black, but he did not need to use his eyes anyway. He preferred it dark.

Kas came around the corner of the wall into a room, round, closed-off besides the tunnel. Hearing no other breathing there and feeling no other heat, he let out a light whistle. It was how he saw when there was no other sound to hear by--his own, echoing back to him.

He whistled again. There were--tables, in here. Or, at least, the Trogg equivalent. Raised up portions, movable, things spread along them--but not rocks. Some kind of metallic equipment? Stone and iron mixed together, perhaps. Kas went to one table and took a small bit of it in his gloved hand. It was cool but not as cold as he’d’ve imagined it to be, sitting so low in the ground without insulation. It was also, for whatever substance it was, exceptionally light. He frowned and put it down.

There were larger samples around the table, but Kas did not pick them up, instead looking around the rest of the room. There were--whistle--shelves?! Shelves--in a Trogg cavern--carved shelves, holding whatever odd materials they had found. This wasn’t normal at all.

Kas frowned, checking if the particle sifter was among them, but it wasn’t, and he started to leave quietly--pausing, thinking, then grabbing one of the more secluded, smaller objects from the top shelf. It wouldn’t be missed until he was long gone, if at all. He could have the Gnome look at it.

Kas stepped back out into the hallway, skirting the edge of the wall to pass by two Troggs wandering by, hammers in hand, moving to the store-room he had just left. The hammers, though, were carved far better than the typical rock-tied-to-a-stick. Kas moved quickly further away. The sooner he got out of there, the better.

He came to another doorway, leading into a much larger room, one that he could hear water rippling in. The doorway actually had stairs, carved stairs, that led down into the room, and Kas knelt down quietly, listening. There was the soft breathing of another creature in the room, and Kas focused.

The stairs led halfway into the water--waist-deep for a Trogg--and filled the expanse of the floor. Next to him, hanging on a stone, carved sharp and buried into the wall, was a--garment of clothing? Kas reached out and very carefully brushed the end of it. It was crude cloth, almost woven entirely from the rough textures of his and other adventurers sacks, but it was unmistakably fashioned into a garment. Kas looked to the recipient, lying lazily on h--her, yes, female--her back in the pool of water.

She was matured for a Trogg, perhaps in the twilight of middle-age, if Kas had to make any guess. She was completely nude, and the entirety of her back was immersed in the water. Her legs were spread, though not far, and her arms likewise; calm and composed, not things a Trogg would be. Her breathing was slow and peaceful, but purposefully deep. She wasn’t asleep. She was meditating.

Kas’s ear twitched, and he moved to the very edge of the stairs. Two males moved into the doorway, intensely close to him, and grunted something in their primitive language. Kas could feel the heat from them--but that was an advantage of the white deermane he wore; it reflected and spread out heat rather than holding on to it. If he’d been in black, he was sure the Trogg nearest him would have felt him there.

The meditating Trogg barked something in reply and readjusted herself to a standing position in the water, wading through it to the stairs. Kas looked at the robe near him and cursed inwardly; she was coming for it. If he moved across the stairs, they’d probably sense it, and if he moved into the water, she could feel the ripples, no matter how gently he did it.

She got to the stairs and ascended. Kas curled himself in and down, slow and smooth, almost crawling. The guards were busy watching her. He slid himself down against the stone of the stair beneath and tucked in his legs just as she stepped up where he had been watching. She dressed herself in her robe and moved up between the guards, who turned and flanked her.

Kas got back up quickly, moving out without making a noise, following. What he was here for, he would find, but he wanted to know what was going on, and if it was going to threaten him or Rhea at all. Besides, the particle sifter might be wherever this woman was going.

She wove down hallway after hallway, deeper and deeper into the cliff-side and the earth, the men beside her saying nothing. Kas wondered who she was, to them; a matriarch, a grandmother, a--a priestess? He’d never heard of Troggs having social structure, much less religion, but he’d also never heard of them laying traps.

She went down a series of tunnels Kas memorized quickly, before coming through to a large chamber. It was only partially dug by the Troggs; they had worked on uncovering it, but they had stumbled upon--what was that?

There was a faint glow in the room, and Kas could hear numerous Troggs working around him on the walls. They weren’t just carving and hammering; they were brushing away dirt--uncovering something. The noise in the room illuminated a structure at the far end, the one they were digging out: firm, hard lines carved into the--no, not the cliffside. This was real architecture. Squared edges, smooth; that same stone-iron material, in-laid with symbols--runes perhaps? Pictoscript? Kas did not know. If he had had more time, he could have read it in the sound, but the Trogg woman was moving, as were the guards, and Kas followed.

They stepped up through the excavation, and through a large, smooth window-frame. Inside was a large hallway, carved, leading to further excavation, and on the opposite side, a massive, square room, ornately carved and tiled, murals along the walls, illuminated by something massive in the middle. It was carved to be humanoid, at least thirty feet tall, robed similarly to the priestess-Trogg, looking down vacantly. The statue was a light blue steel-like material, radiating light.

The priestess-Trogg screeched something and knelt, touching her head to the ground in reverence. The other Troggs followed suit, and Kas saw through the noise that the particle sifter was placed on her feet, among many offerings. That would make things difficult.

Kas moved against the wall, sidling away from the bowing Troggs. The statue was in the middle of the room without anywhere else he could hide. He could clamber up it if need-be, but they might notice, or hear--or the material might not be as sturdy as it looked.

He looked at the sifter. It was placed with a great deal of care for positioning; it was purposefully there. They’d know it was gone. Kas moved forward, careful, sticking low to the ground. If he didn’t grab it now, the priestess might take it, and do who-knows-what with it. Besides, he could slip out long before they would register it, and she did not look to be ending her reverie anytime soon. Kas went to the altar--the statues feet, and grabbed the sifter from the metal.

As he touched it, a warmth shot through his body like electricity, and his stealth dropped in the shock. The statue spoke in a courtly woman’s voice into his head, starting with numbers; the subjects of Azeroth as a printed list; his name, age, species--

The Troggs had been siphoning knowledge from this thing.

Kas stumbled back and the voice faded. The reverie around him had stopped, and the priestess slowly raised her head. The statue above groaned and creaked, and the metal face turned slightly to follow Kas.

The priestess saw him, and screeched.

He ran.

Troggs sprinted after him, coming from the excavation inside the building, outside the building, down further in the tunnels. Kas sprinted, jumping over one, stepping on one’s face and off of the side of the window-frame, landing in the chamber beyond and rolling, rushing into the narrower tunnels. The Troggs screeched and stampeded over themselves after him, chasing, going through the tunnels far easier than him, though he knew the longer way back. He could feel the weight off the daggers next to him, but unless it was necessary, he didn’t truly want to kill them. Killing one, he might stop, and then he’d have to kill them all to get free.

He ducked into a store-room, taking the one moment out of their gaze to focus and stealth again desperately. They came into the storeroom with shrieks and tore through it, looking around, but Kas, who had flattened against the wall, stole past them and carefully along the corridor, getting further and further away from the crowd, even though many still went down the corridor like him.

He got past the pool-room, past the first store-room, going up and up and up until he got to the entrance. Troggs guarded it fiercely with spears, pointing them in all directions so that none might get by. Kas tucked the sifter into a pocket as best he could, checking along the ceiling behind them. There were a few weaker spots. He took out his daggers.

Kas sprinted towards one of the Troggs on the end, ducking under the spear and spinning, smashing his elbow into the unfortunate creature’s head, sending it wailing and sprawling into its companions. In the process of fighting, he couldn’t remain in stealth, and the other guards rushed at him to skewer--

He rushed out the tunnel entrance, dragging his dagger up through the weak points of the ceiling as he jumped over the pit trap, loosening the rocks above. Two of the guards led the way trying to follow, but the ceiling caved in behind Kas, knocking one into the pit spears and cutting off his scream prematurely, knocking the other back, sealing the tunnel system for now. The two Troggs remaining outside screamed and rushed him, and Kas sighed, dodging one spear and returning with a dagger to the side of the throat; ducking under the other and coming up behind the second, snapping its neck. Both collapsed silently to the dusty ground.

Kas looked at the rubble of the tunnel. It would buy them hours--maybe days. He didn’t know how deep the fracture might’ve run, though it wouldn’t collapse the whole system. He didn’t know what they had found in there, or what it was doing to them. But he did have the sifter, and so he quietly, but quickly, trudged back to the Gnome’s camp. Perhaps he would have some answers.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Broderick and Lethrena and the Twilight Guards come upon the Titan ruins.

The Twilight camp had packed up in only a few minutes. Bedrolls and tents were folded up and tucked away; provisions were had; they moved. Over the night, one of the guards had commented that there was the illumination from a camp due south, tucked in against one of the rising cliff-islands of the Badlands, and so, without as much direction as he had thought he’d have, Broderick set the group out to find the camp. The people there might have information, which would be useful, else they’d submit to the might of Twilight.

The desert wind was cool amid the unrelenting sun. Broderick led the pack, quiet, Lethrena at his side as ever. The guards were semi-circled around them, carrying their packs and weapons. The heat was nothing compared to the fires they’d been exposed to in Hyjal in their training, but it was still aggravating. Their supplies were in good shape, and Broderick had no doubt that they’d get more from this expedition site.

The two or three miles to the camp went by smoothly. Broderick would’ve preferred conversation, but Lethrena was quiet. He didn’t much blame her.

They paused, cresting a hill over the camp, flattening to the sand. The camp was in some kind of hubbub--Blood Elves clamoring and yelling and moving quickly around. There was some kind of excavation. That was good; hopefully their conquest took them through the area that was excavated. Broderick had an appreciation for the past--not quite dead or gone, but still out of tune with the modern day.

“Lethrena,” he said softly, “can you make out any of what they’re saying?”

She paused, lying next to him, leaning her head forward ever so slightly, straining to hear. One yelled in Elvish, and she frowned, looking back to Broderick.

“There was an intruder earlier at camp--they’re making sure the equipment wasn’t stolen or tampered with--checking the digsite now.”

“What’s the digsite of? Old species; nomads?”

“They aren’t saying.”

Broderick nodded, looking back to the guards. “We go quietly. Two of you, cut around low to the other side; we’ll drive them to you. Stab to immobilize; nothing lethal.”

Two guards peeled off from the group, their polearms in-hand. The rest followed Broderick as he moved down the dune. The camp’s entrances were open, and they stole down through. No traps.

Foolish.

He stood, brushing off his robes. Lethrena and the guards did likewise. He calmly strolled into camp. Far too late, a cry went up among the Blood Elf archaeologists, and they grabbed at their pickaxes for some form of defense. A guard split off around the side, closing them off from any back way out of the dig--though, considering the whole area was sunken into the earth to better get to their find, Broderick doubted there was any other path but the ones they had seen. One fool tried to rush in, getting a spear-point embedded into his elbow. His compatriots pulled him back, looking on in fear and rage at the Twilight before them.

One stepped forward, empty-handed. Broderick admired the grit on the man’s expression, and the tan he had built up. He was a foreman, yes, but he worked with his crew. Broderick could respect that.  
The foreman looked to Lethrena, scowling, and said something in Elvish that Broderick couldn’t understand beyond the damning tone. She glanced at Broderick.

“He says--”

“I’m sure I know what he’s saying, Lethrena, thank you. Please tell him that his camp will comply and not be harmed.”

Lethrena nodded and communicated the message back to the foreman. He yelled something indignantly, taking a step forward towards Broderick. The guards tensed, but Broderick held up a hand calmly for them to stay still. The foreman stopped inches from him, cursing him out, seething and spitting.

Broderick smiled calmly, polite, looking into the Blood Elf’s green eyes. He let his smile fade. He made sure his eyes hardened. He loosened the shackles on the wolf in him, and the low growl of a feral predator rumbled in his throat, just for the foreman to hear. His eyes became bitter fury.

The foreman took a step back, gulping. Broderick tightened his hold on the wolf again, and softened his gaze.

“Lethrena, please tell him that we will be making a portal momentarily and that he and his crew will be escorted through?”

Lethrena did so. The foreman shook his head, pleading, but Broderick repeated it calmly. He knew the archaeologists would much rather die than serve. If that was the case, then they would; they’d be useful enough there.

One tried to run, only to be caught in the grasp of the two flanking guards. Broderick smiled, remaining calm, snapping his fingers and motioning his troop forward. They cornered the Blood Elves, keeping them in, while one advanced magic-user started summoning a portal.

Broderick glanced at the dig-site, calling Lethrena over to him. She came.

“Ask the foreman please what they are studying here? Also ask if he saw either the Gilnean or the Tauren.”

“Yes, sir.”

She moved off, dutifully. Broderick watched her a moment, then looked back to the tunnels leading into the excavation. He listened to her fair voice lilt over the air, speaking in that smooth elvish tongue. His wolf purred.

She came back. “They’re studying what they believe to be something Titan in origin. They don’t know yet, with the many traps in there.”

Broderick raised a brow. This was good luck indeed--Titan relics were few and far between, and carefully guarded. The Titans, to the best he knew, had either started the world, or simply lived on it before all other life, creating as they went… fighting the Old Gods, his Masters. Titan technology was advanced, scarce, and still active, if you were in luck. He could take it and corrupt it and use it to their ends--or die in the process, if the traps hadn’t broken with the age of time.

“Sir?”

Her voice cut through his thoughts. He smiled again at his second-in-command, reveling at the small blush he could tell spread over her darkened features.

“Yes, Lethrena?”

“He said too that the camp this morning saw the Tauren run out of the tunnel and into the desert, heading south.”

Broderick’s smile vanished, and his eyes narrowed in seething hatred. Their procurement of Titan technology would have to wait; the Tauren was their priority--and, if he had been as much trouble here as in Broderick’s camp, he most likely had stolen the precious things himself.

Broderick turned to the guards, motioning two over. They came swiftly. “Do either of you have portal stones back to your camp near Blackrock Mountain?”

Both nodded.

“All right. I want you to remain here with the foreman. You’ll figure out the traps in that place, and find whatever Titan relics it has to give. Once that’s done, take the foreman back to Lady Azalia and report your findings.”

The two nodded. Broderick wasn’t thrilled to be losing guards, but the potential gain of having an Information Box--or even a full Waygate--would be astronomically high.

The magic-user opened the portal. Broderick went over to the archaeologists, pulling out the foreman, letting the guards lead the others to the portal. Some went dully, one or two yelled and writhed, one even broke down weeping. Broderick hummed to himself; usually there weren’t any who went with composure, so at least it was quieter. He supposed that Blood Elves were far too proud a race as to typically be anything but haughty and constantly proving they’re the best in the room. He wasn’t going to tell Lethrena that supposition.

The foreman stumbled over to the two guards left on-duty there. Broderick glanced at them. “I suppose it’s a little late to ask if either of you speak Elvish?” One nodded. “Good. He’s all yours.”

Broderick thrust the foreman at them, and they caught him firmly. He nodded his regards and respect to each, then turned back to survey. The archaeologists were through. Only one injury total. The dig-site would be plundered. The portal was neatly closed, and the reagents to open it cleaned and tucked away again. The guards raided the tents, taking food, water, small things of value that might come in handy or be disenchanted for materials. Everything was neat, efficient, quick. Good.

Lethrena took her place again at his side.

“After the Tauren, Broderick?” she said, composed and quiet, though he could hear the softness of her person coming through her voice.

“After the Tauren, Lethrena,” he replied, letting his own voice tinge with the hungry growl of his wolf, just for her ears to hear.

Nothing more to do at the excavation, Broderick set out again over the desert, heading south after the man who had killed his camp.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhea and Dr. Blam get to work on the eggs.

The sun blazed overhead down on Dr. Blam’s camp. Hieronymus sat with Rhea, catching up, sipping tea, shaded by a tent. Without the particle sifter, all he was really able to do was start up the numerous rounds of machinery, which he did, letting their whir fill the empty, flat desert ground. He didn’t really think that the Gilnean would come back, but if Rhea had faith in him, that was enough.

He had met Rhea years back, on an expedition through Northrend, where Queen Alexstrasza led the Red Dragonflight atop Wyrmrest Temple. He didn’t know much about them, but he admired them nonetheless; they were, after all, Dragons. Huge, mythical, sometimes scary, sometimes very polite. They never turned down tea. More than anything, Hieronymus knew he could trust a race that never turned down tea.

His research had brought him out to the Badlands because of its solitude. Nobody from Gnomergan--or, he supposed, from Ironforge, now; his people had relocated cities after radiation and Troggs had taken the first--could interrupt him here. No foolish assistants would ask what he was doing, or tell him that there was sand in the machinery so let’s take it apart and clean it (by the Makers, sand was everywhere; it was a desert!!! The machines get ONE cleaning, per week! Two if they’ve been good!), no project over-seers would keep tabs on his progress, or research, or yada yada yada…

And, when Rhea came out to the desert to study the Black Dragons there, he was thrilled to have such good company within at least easy writing distance. It was always wonderful to see her; it made him forget sometimes that all Goblins were greedy, corner-cutting dirt-- thing-- things. Hatred gets nowhere, in the desert; he had to rely on Fuselight for supplies just as much as anywhere else.

She always sent samples his way; the corrupted younglings, the various eggs she found in the nests, fallen scales, blood, other liquid samples he didn’t think about--and none of them were worth a damn thing. It was sad to see someone so determined and with such an altruistic goal continuously shot down, especially when it was he, himself, that had to do the shooting. He supposed that he was still being a help to her (after all, she couldn’t solve the corruption if he said it was the wrong thing), but it still made him feel bad.

This was the most interesting sample, though. She had come with it, and she never abandoned her camp. This would be one to remember.

“Do you want any more, dear?” he said, shaking himself out of his musing, holding up the kettle. Rhea smiled and shook her head, green fingers clasped around the cup she was draining.

“No, thanks, Hiero; I want to still be able to move after this. Tea always makes me somewhat sleepy.” She laughed softly, and Hieronymus joined in.

“Sleepy how? Tea usually invigorates me, Rhea.”

“Ah, well, it could be different anatomical structure,” she said, growing serious in a way that Hieronymus meant she wasn’t being serious at all. “Or, more likely, because I run around so much that when I stop to enjoy tea, the fatigue catches up with me.”

“Oh, I see, I see,” he said, nodding his proportionally-large head sagely. “The obvious thing to do there is to have you hop in bed and doze a good thirty hours or so, hm?”

Rhea smiled impishly. “I only see one bed-roll, Hiero.”

“Well it is my tent, Rhea; I almost never have actual company, out here.” He took a sip of tea.

“Ah, so you weren’t inviting me to bed?”

He spluttered, tea dribbling down the well-kept beard on his chin to the ground. Rhea laughed, and he grumbled and dabbed at his face with a towel.

“You can be such a git sometimes, dear friend,” he said, eyes narrowed with crossness cancelled out by a playful smile that danced over his features.

She blinked innocently. “ME?”

“Yes, you--”

They were interrupted by the crashing sound of falling rocks down at the cliff-side. Their heads whipped around, expressions serious again.

“What on Azeroth was that?” Hieronymus muttered, standing sharply and walking out of his tent. Moving over to a telescope he had set up to chart star positions, he made a mental note of the coordinates it was facing, took out a small notebook and jotted them down, then turned it sharply down to face the cliffs where the Trogg caves were.

He got it there just in time to watch the two guards fall dead as Kas moved away from them.

Rhea moved over to his side. “Everything good, Hiero, or do we need to move?”

“No, Rhea,” he said softly. “Everything’s fine. I think your boyfriend there caused a minor collapse in the cavern system. He’s actually still alive; that’s amazing enough.”

“He does tend to surprise,” she said, looking off in the same direction. Far and away, she could still make out the white deermane armor as her bodyguard trudged back to the camp.

Kas arrived soon enough. Dr. Blam made his examinations over all of his machines again, cursory, just to check that in the hour or so that had passed, no sand had somehow wormed its way in and caused a total malfunction. It hadn’t.

The Gilnean met him at camp with the particle sifter in hand, and he couldn’t help but let out a tiny squeal of excitement that his little darling hadn’t been injured when the big scary Troggs took it.

When Kas mentioned the manner in which the Troggs were acting, their hierarchy, and their excavation project, Dr. Blam’s smile faded rapidly.

Rhea overheard, frowning, looking to her Gnome friend. His race knew Troggs far more personally than hers--she knew that Troggs had been at least a large part if not the full cause for the Gnomes having to give up their city, though she’d never asked Hieronymus about it--but even she knew something was wrong when Kas mentioned the amount of intellect they were displaying. However, this wasn’t her campsite; she’d let him decide what they would do.

Dr. Blam glanced at her, registering this fact, then up at Kas again, clearing his throat. “How far back would you say the collapse went?”

“Maybe ten feet,” Kas said in his deep, rich voice. He must be a ladies-man--well, if he wouldn’t be so brooding. Did they like ‘brooding?’ Hieronymus had no idea (besides, whoever heard of a brooding Gnome?). “Might be more, I couldn’t fully tell before the two outside attacked.”

“Hum.” Dr. Blam frowned and nodded to himself. “Was it a big fault? Just--do you think that there would be a lot of rubble to work through?”

“It definitely filled the space floor-to-ceiling, and considering they set up a pit of spears, digging out will be more hazardous than before.”

“Wonderful! Wonderful.” Dr. Blam started with the particle sifter towards the machinery tent where the eggs were. “Come with me, please, Mr. Big-n-tall?”

“His name’s Kas, Hiero,” Rhea said, unable to bite back a grin.

“Kas, then! Kas Big-n-tall, let’s go!”

Kas moved to the tent with large quick strides, beating Dr. Blam there. The Gnome huffed and muttered something to himself, most likely uncouth, then motioned Kas over to a large set of machine parts.

“Can I trust you to please set this up at a safe distance away from camp outside?”

Kas nodded. “You have a blueprint?”

Dr. Blam nodded, going to the cabinet again and fishing out a large paper, showing how each piece connected together. Kas poured over it.

“Mind my taking this with?”

“No, go ahead; I made copies of all my work.”

Kas nodded, folding it up and tucking it in one of his pockets. He grabbed the larger parts of the machine and grunted, heaving it up and making his way out, past the Gnome and Rhea, who stopped to watch, a brow raised. She watched Kas go, then turned her inquisitorial look to Hieronymus.

“Turret gun,” he said quietly.

Rhea nodded.

Hieronymus turned to the workspace, truly cluttered with technology, and pushed as much aside as would fit whatever Rhea had brought. Rhea carefully pulled one of Nyxondra’s eggs out of the sack, careful of the spines, adjusting it and readjusting it in her grip. She’d taken for granted how awkward they were to carry, seeing Kas so easily cart them around before.

Setting it up on the work-table, Rhea and Hieronymus got to work.

The particle sifter whirred to life, just as if it had never been gone. Hieronymus carefully broke off one of the spines at the top of the egg, careful of the jagged point at the top, and fed it through the sifter. The whirring filled the tent, and he took out his notebook, turning to a new page, jotting down elements and their percentage read-outs. So far, the eggs were only a few points changed from where they were; Rhea had been guessing, he knew--of course she had been; it’s not like she knew what would be perfect in this situation, else she’d have done it--but it would be good to test these read-outs.

The more he thought about it, though, the bleaker the situation became. Rhea, despite her hard work, was just shooting the dark, trying to hit what no one else, even advanced mages, had been able to get to. And, if she was here, she most likely had lost her camp-ground. Regaining the circumstances that got these eggs here would be impossible--everything was riding on them.

The read-outs didn’t indicate that anything different would happen, but Blam grunted and punched codes through the sifter anyway. The small machine took apart the spine further, dissecting and categorizing and getting him every number down to the grains of sand that had strayed onto it. There was enough difference to be intriguing--and, moreover, enough that there was a chance, however slim, that these would be the uncorrupted eggs.

“Would you mind starting up the examiner, there?” Dr. Blam said, pointing to a large machine towards one corner of the assembly. Rhea nodded, moving over to it, glancing over the top before smiling and hitting a button that Hiero had labelled “START” in huge letters. It whirred, and golden light lit up an enclosed containment bay, large enough for even a Goblin, if it were crouching.

Dr. Blam looked up at the egg, clearing his throat. “Uh… would you mind moving it over? It’s a bit bigger than other samples you’ve given me.”

Rhea nodded again, moving over to the egg and hoisting it up. Dr. Blam opened the glass containment unit, and Rhea moved the egg inside. Dr. Blam shut the door again, punching in a series of numbers, hearing the machine beep, punching in more, down an intricate series of start-up codes until it whirred louder and the golden light intensified.

Dr. Blam started writing things down with furious speed, and Rhea blinked, wondering where he was getting his output from. Maybe in the light? Rhea glanced at it but could make nothing of it. She looked again at her Gnome friend, bent over the notebook.

He looked up again, frowning, looking at the side of the egg. In his monocle, Rhea could see a string of numbers, projected and rapidly moving by. He went quickly back to writing, flipping through pages hard. Rhea smiled, marveling in silence at his ingenuity, and the technical prowess it must’ve taken to sync up those two pieces.

Kas came in again, silently grabbing more parts of the turret gun, heading back out.

Rhea looked at her friend, unsure what she could do to help. The golden light faded slightly, and the machine whirred down to a hum. Dr. Blam continued writing, then finally stopped, looking up with a sigh, remaining silent a long moment.

“Any good?”

Her voice apparently started him, as he jolted around to see her. “Oh! Yes, no, what? Sorry.”

She giggled. Gnomes were always so adorable. “The egg, Hiero. Is it any good?”

“Ah, the egg…” he frowned. “I’m going to have to run different tests with it--lots of ones bumping the numbers by fractions of a percentile, that sort of thing. There’s still damage, but it’s definitely lesser than a normal egg.”

Rhea frowned, nodding.

“What I can do right now is run tests to see exactly what would need to change for it to be ‘normal.’ It’s going to be a lot of trial-and-error; a lot of guess-work. Hypotheticals. It may take all day, in fact.” He sighed.

Rhea nodded again. “Can I help out with testing another egg, perhaps?”

“That’d be a wonderful help--but sadly the examiner is the only machine I have that can run those tests as in-depth as I’d need. If you want to jot down notes on the particle sifter looking at the different percentages, elements, and numbers between the spine and the regular corrupted eggs, that’d be wonderful, but that’d be extremely boring, I’m sure.”

She shrugged. “No more so than anything else. It’s what I’m here to do, anyway. Do you have another notebook?”

He nodded, handing her one. She sat herself down on the table, grabbing the particle sifter, getting to work.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Blam has done all he can and recommends Rhea goes to a Troll shaman, and Rhea dreams of the past...

The next three hours only proved to the Gnome that this venture would most likely end up fruitless as well. The examiner did eventually track each element of corruption in the egg, but the differences were, while on the right track, too slight to make much lasting impact with what he had to work with.

True, there might be ways to transform the egg, based on the numbers he had found and the comparisons--or to “engineer” a new one that fit those stipulations based on the way Rhea had done it, with hundreds of times more power and prodding--but even so, it was time-sensitive to try and cure the egg before the corruption went too deep, and it was too hard to guess each individual element in one dragon’s egg before it was too late. All of them were different.

In short, much as he didn’t want to tell Rhea, he thought that this effort was wasted, and that she had failed. Even more than that--that she would continue failing until she was blessed with pure dumb luck in experimenting, which might come the next time or three-hundred-thousand years later.

Kas had set up the turret gun out in the boiling desert sun, out and away from camp but not too far, ready should Troggs invade--and far enough that a freak misfire wouldn’t destroy everything… probably. The Gilnean had helped dutifully in moving machinery, or moving the egg from machine to machine, or writing things down for Rhea--and finally was tasked with going out for extra water from the watering-hole about half-a-mile away. They didn’t need much to refill--indeed, they really didn’t need any, though it was always good to have full water whenever possible--but Dr. Blam had wanted to break the news to Rhea without the added pressure of the imposing and strange man.

Unable to push it off no longer, he took off his monocle with a sigh and rubbed his face.

“Rhea--” he began, but her voice cut through his thoughts.

“It’s not going to work, is it, Hiero?”

Hieronymus sighed again and cleared his throat. “It’s not that it won’t necessarily work, Rhea,” he said, slow and careful of his words, “but it’s not easily going to be cured. Theoretically, with the correct combination and amount of ingredients, you could isolate and destabilize the elements of corruption, then inject more that would strongly combat them. Even then, the egg itself and the whelpling would have to take to it, and actively fight that disease.

“All this would have to be done relatively soon, too; if the whelpling is born, it’ll be corrupted down to its very bones. While it’s unhatched, you could at least slow the rate of egg gestation significantly, which would be my suggestion. Even if you do manage to find the cure, figuring out the dosage and administering it in a short amount of time…”

Rhea nodded, looking on grimly, waiting for him to finish.

Dr. Blam sighed and thoughtfully twirled his mustache. “Additionally, dear, even once you save this one egg, unless you’re breeding the full race from this dragon, you’d need to do it again, and again, and again. Even knowing the combination of materials, it’d need to be adjusted down to the most infinitesimal amount in order to properly suit each egg.”

“I know,” she said softly, emotions locked away under a mask of professionalism.

“I’m sorry I can’t give you better news, Rhea,” Dr. Blam said, looking at her sadly. “I really am.”

She nodded again, calm. “What would need to be done to slow the rate of gestation?”

Dr. Blam glanced at the egg, sitting neatly in the examiner, and cleared his throat. “Well, partially magic, though more like curse-work, I think, and partially a great understanding of reagents and timing. Luckily--” he said, grinning again, “I happen to have such an understanding! I can, therefore, tell you exactly what to put in, and when, and how much--”

His smile faded slightly.

“But?” Rhea said.

“But I can’t do it for you. It has to be interwoven with the magic.”

Rhea nodded, thinking, though exactly what was beyond Hieronymus.

“I can give you a list of the reagents and amounts and the timing, if that’d help?”

Rhea glanced back at him, coming back from her angry sea of internal dilemmas. The Gnome smiled weakly, tired and grasping at straws, but doing what he could for her sake. Rhea smiled softly, eyes shining through what joy the situation could permit her to show.

“That’d be wonderful, Hiero.”

He nodded and turned and got to work, scribbling something down.

She looked back at the egg, and at the sack of eggs. All three had been sifted, and their exact numbers recorded. Only one had been examined thoroughly--from that, Hieronymus had put together instructions for the approximation of the rest, unless he was allowed more time than they had to go over the other two with the same fine-tooth comb. To mark the one tested, Rhea broke off the tops of the spines--leaving them partially there. It was still a Dragon’s egg, not something she’d use for an omelette, after all.

It was her purpose. Her goal, beyond anything else. Her mission, her desire, her world.

She hated it with an anguish of passion.

Hiero’s hand slipped into hers and squeezed, gentle, reassuring and warm. She glanced at him and smiled again for him. He gave her a folded piece of paper, which she unfolded and looked over, smile fading. The reagents were not necessarily difficult to find, but finding them all in one place--

“I know someone, before you go freaking out, Rhea.”

She glanced at her friend. He twirled the end of his mustache absentmindedly.

“You’d have to go see him, but he’s trustworthy, if…”

“If…?”

Hieronymus cleared his throat. “If also a bit of a bastard.”

Rhea raised a brow.

“He’s a master of reagents, though, and for any kind of bastardry he does, he also has quite a bit of dedication to moral causes and a soft spot for lovely ladies. He’s also, I might add, a shaman, and so he’s rather well-learned and open-minded too. If anyone can stop your eggs here from hatching too fast, it’s going to be him.”

Rhea nodded softly. “Who is he, and where?”

“He’s a Troll fellow north-west of here, living on the top of Dustypaw Hill. I never knew why they called it a hill; the dang thing is a cliff, with more mountain-cats and goats than I’ve ever seen. Lives alone but sometimes does come over to help out here, if I need a tall, lanky fellow helping.” Dr. Blam hummed to himself then grinned all at once. “And! he likes tea, Rhea; never turns it down. You can always trust those kinds of people.”

Rhea chuckled to herself. “And his name, Hiero?”

“Ye’tka Qoatoll. Whole family’s apparently master shamans. Why he moved out here, I have no Idea.”

Rhea nodded. “I don’t suppose he’s able to come here, if Kas went to bring him with the reagents?”

Dr. Blam sighed and shook his head. “No, Rhea, this is going to require him to be in his element with unlimited supplies, I think.”

She nodded again. Kas came back, water-skins full. Rhea told him what the plan was and he nodded, mute as ever. They packed up to go, and, in less than half-an-hour, bid Hieronymus Blam a fond farewell and left for Ye’tka.

<*>                    <*>                    <*>

Rheastrasza soared over the ocean, her red wings gleaming back at her over the water. It was only that morning that he’d asked her, and she was still purring with excitement over the whole affair.

Far in the distance, past the setting sun, she could see the island he’d mentioned--barely more than a jutting piece of land, a large cave atop a barren cliffside. Not even moss grew there, but it was said to house the most exquisite, shining jewels, beyond anywhere else in the world.

Her great wings glided in the breeze. The azure ocean under her hissed and sprayed foam, whitecapping waves breaking and crashing and reforming. The cool drops of water felt good against her belly, and her scales reflected almost pure scarlet in the summer sun.

The island drew closer, closer, closer still. She slowed her pace, flapping her wings to let the air catch and break her speed, coming down on the gray rocks firmly, trotting with inertia then slowing down more. Her front claws tapped the gray stone, testing it, finding it typically hard and quite wet. She stretched out her hind legs; a long flight always made them so taught from staying up behind her so as not to drag.

The cave was before her. It was the only thing on the island, after all, and she moved inside, body swaying with her walk. Her wings folded in at her side, and she looked around for him.

“Koraherasz?” she called out, voice a pleasantly high rumble in the cave.

From further down, a red head poked up. “Rheastrasza! You made it!” The male dragon came trotting out to the entrance, smiling a bright, fangful smile. He looks so firm, Rheastrasza thought as she smiled back.

“I’m so glad you found it okay,” he continued, motioning with his long neck for her to come in further. “You’re not too tired? Are you hungry? I can catch you some fish, if you want.”

Rheastrasza laughed, walking in, looking around. “That’s fine, Koraherasz~”

She purred to herself, seeing the male shiver as she said his name. She walked on.

“There are bright gems here?”

“Y-- Yes!” he trotted over quickly to her side. “Yes, there are. They’re further in; the walls are covered with them. There’s no sunlight there, but it still glows brighter than here from the faintest beams caught and reflected so infinitely.”

She smiled and listened to him continue, looking around, walking on further into the cave. They rounded a corner, and, indeed, where it should have been darker, the cave lit up with millions of points of light. The walls and ceiling wrapped around in a starfield of geodes, pointing out at such odd angles and catching light within them like souls in glass, passing them through, magnificent and unearthly.

Her eyes widened and she let out an involuntary gasp. Koraherasz smiled, looking on at the scene with her. “Isn’t it something?”

She glanced at him, eyes still lit up. He glanced at her, smiling innocently but it faded as he blinked, looking at her. Her breath grew heavier, and she moved closer in the gemlight to him. He gulped.  
“Rheastr… Rhea?..”

She shut her eyes and pressed her neck to his, nuzzling, running herself against the length of him. He shivered and gulped.

“Rhea?”

She continued, gentle.

“Kora.”

Koraherasz had been with her for so long. He’d been there, learning to fly properly under the same instructor as her. He’d learned to hunt as she had. He’d been the one she had gone to Midsummers with, and watched the large bonfire alongside; the one she’d always gotten her first Yuletide presents from; the one she’d swore she hated growing up and now knew she wanted to be with. He was the one she knew she’d let have her, here, for their first time; the one who would mate her, the one who would go through every social ritual with her to be recognized as her mate, and she his, the one who she’d celebrate so many cubs with, the only one she’d ever love, among her many lovers; and she, the only one of his he’d care for with such deep passion. She knew their past, and their future, and here and now, their bodies would intertwine, their passions unrivaled, and they would be mated until death stole them away.

He nuzzled back. Her body set ablaze in longing, in tender affection for him. She put a hand over his, squeezing, pulling her neck back and looking into the eyes of the man she loved--

Her smile vanished.

It was wrong. He was wrong. His eyes were pale, frosted over. He looked at her, scared, older, as old as he’d been when--

Fire exploded around them, and Rhea screamed and flailed. Her eggs--their eggs; their whelplings!--burned around her, screaming to their mother as they boiled. She tried to grab at them, but a furious beating of wings sounded, and claws ripped through the flesh of her arm as she tried. She sobbed, frantic, looking back to Koraherasz, but blood trailed down his mouth, a gaping hole in his side, so much blood on the ground around him--

His corpse was flung aside, breaking through so many of their eggs, letting the undeveloped whelp bodies out into the cruel world to writhe and die before she even knew their names. A looming shadow rose up, ebon wings stretching along the sky, holes in them, tattered like an old sail. The giant came down again, shaking the earth, cracking the remaining eggs--save one. Rheastrasza backed up to it, shielding it; she would not, could not let it die too! Everything was spinning--

Deathwing advanced, his metal jaw darkened with heat, his eyes orange and delighting in the cruelty. He stopped in front of her, looking her over, then chuckled, deep and without remorse, taking off into the sky and vanishing as quickly as he’d come.

Rheastrasza trembled and sobbed. Her mate, dead; their brood, destroyed--all except--

She turned quickly to the one surviving egg. The spines were strange on the top, and she whimpered and ran a loving claw over it.

It cracked, and from within, a red whelpling burst forth, shrieking in agony as corruption darkened its scales.

Rhea woke up, body tensing sharply, letting out a strangled sob. The sun was just beginning its descent in the Badlands.

Her mate and their clutch were gone.

She sobbed, lying back, barely registering the movement around her. The dream faded. She shuddered and let out a softer breath, brushing her eyes and looking around. Someone had pulled her hood up to shield her eyes from the light, and she pulled it back.

Kas had the sack slung over his shoulder as usual, but this time, the other hand carefully cradled her smaller body to his chest. It looked truly uncomfortable, but the man had no sign of stopping. She squirmed, blushing.

“You can put me down,” she said, her voice far more wavery than she’d hoped.

“You needed rest,” he replied. His voice was softer than normal. Almost warm.

“I slept; K-- Kas, you can put me down.”

“You need comfort.”

She sighed. Without shifting to another form, he wasn’t going to drop her. After a moment, she sniffed and let out a breath again, clearing her throat, brushing away silent tears as they still fell. She sighed and shut her eyes, curling slightly in his hold. He was strong, and warm. He would protect her--it was his job, after all. And she knew, if it came to it, she would do all the same for him, for reasons completely opposite.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lethrena has a striking vision, and Dr. Blam has a visitor...

Broderick and the Twilight hunting party made an early camp for the night a few miles south of the digsite. While they could have gone further, the dust was whipping up fiercer than what Broderick considered ideal, and he didn’t want his guards, or Lethrena, to get any scratching their eyes. The tents were set up, a fire was kept but blown to ash and smoldering coal, and they all huddled in their tents, even the guards, who took shifts listening intently to the wind blast along empty stretches of desert. Their paranoia was good, but thoroughly misplaced.

Lethrena insisted on setting up a scrying bowl that she could review and discuss with her commander, and the guards, trusting the two of them not to be so brazen as to break rules (at least in the presence of such strict authority), thought nothing of the two of them in the same tent as the storm drew on and picked up in gales. They would not separate, that night.

Broderick knew very little about scrying. Talented as he was as a commander, and talented as he had been coming through his training, he had never once in his life felt even the beginning of a tug of the arcane, or any other branch of magic. The closest he had ever felt to some extrasensory power was being able to speak so smoothly with the Masters, in their presence, and he knew that their communication was their own enchantments, set up to magnify their voice, and his.

He was, however, capable of giving and following directions, and when Lethrena approached him with the idea, he saw no drawbacks to it. She was exceptionally gifted where he was not--another reason they balanced each other so well--and she could tell him what needed to happen. She also raised the excellent point that, in terms of security, it would be far more useful for them to know what they were getting into and where, so that they were not wandering the desert--who these people were, all they were capable of, any allies they had, any weaknesses, their location and their destination.  
She directed him through pouring and mixing the salt and the water in a shallow, oven-baked clay basin that they Lethrena had quietly gotten from the Blackrock camp. It was odd, yet fit in the bag for their tents without hassle, so Broderick made no comment. He knew, rightly, it would be handy; he trusted his second-in-command.

She glanced over, unpacking candles and lighting one, and incense. She secured the candle in a small jar, placing it above the basin.

“Like this?” Broderick had stirred the salt water, not quick, nor too much--just enough to make it swirl in a slow rhythm to the left.

“Just like that.” She moved to kneel in front of the basin, where Broderick had placed a folded-up sleeping-roll. There was no sense having her bruise her legs on the ground, especially with all the walking they needed to do.

Broderick took the incense, as she instructed, and stood behind her, arm outstretched, waving it in slow arcs over her and the bowl. The air in the tent grew dimmer with the dusky sky and the ceremonial haze, and ash fell in small taps to break the surface of the water. Lethrena doubled over in a reverie of concentration, and placed her hands slowly on the tent’s bottom, bent over the bowl inches from the ripples in the water.

Her body was still, calm, and Broderick continued to wave the stick of incense over her in calm arcs, making as little sound as he could; even opening his mouth so that this nose didn’t wheeze in and out with the dust in his sinuses.

He did not know how long it would be before she would be so thoroughly focused that she could speak with him about what she was seeing. Perhaps it would simply never arrive, and she would end her visions with nothing, or with fragments, or with a full picture, so vivid but unable to be communicated as well as those times when she could just spit out the words thoughtlessly. He had only seen her do this twice before, and both times, she hadn’t been able to speak, only mutter incoherently--though, afterwards, she had insisted she was speaking fluently. Everything else was her own interpretation, and the good word of those who had instructed her before she had come to Broderick’s side.

“I’m ready.” Her voice was soft, dulled, as of a somnambulist, but likewise crisp. Broderick continued the arcs of mist, which fell through the air slowly to ring around her head and the basin.

“What do you see, Lethrena Goldenfire?” he asked, voice soft, soothing. Any firmness or shock would pull her out quickly--it pulled out even the most advanced scryer, unless they were so trapped by someone or something that they needed help breaking off.

“The wolf.” That was another problem, though not unexpected. There was very little, logically, that was still being maintained by her. Every question had to be exact.

“Kaskaeld Remor?”

“Yes. I see his wolf, chained inside him, but so close to bursting free.”

“Is the Goblin with him?”

There was a pause. Finally, Lethrena answered: “No…”

Broderick frowned. Her voice denoted uncertainty. Scrying was an answer; it was not uncertain.

“Does he travel with company, and if so, then who, Lethrena?”

“He travels with a Red Dragonness in Goblin form.”

Broderick raised a brow. This was unexpected indeed. A Goblin experimenting on Black Dragons was one thing, but a Red Dragon doing so on its cousins? And to think--both people had beasts hidden beyond their normal guises. It was almost poetic.

“Are they currently traveling?”

“Yes.”

“Where are they going to?”

“They are going… there is a man. A contacter of spirits. A Troll.”

“Where is this man?”

“He is… I cannot see easily. He has someone in the way.”

Broderick frowned. The incense had almost burned out, despite being a long stick. Broderick imagined it was unnatural, and tied to whatever amount of energy she was exerting in scrying.

“Someone in the way, Lethrena?”

“Yes… A spirit. They are hissing at me.”

“Back away. Go back to Kaskaeld and the Dragon woman. Where did they come from?”

There was a pause, then she spoke again: “There is a Gnome. Hieronymus Blam. Their friend, due south.”

“Good. We will pay him a visit, then. Can you find the Tauren?”

She went silent again. Broderick carefully leaned down, not moving his feet and making excess noise, grabbing another stick of incense, lighting it from the candle and blowing it out to smoulder, letting the first stick fall to the ground.

“Atano Braveheart Tantoren. I see him. The Tauren hunter and his pet bird. And the woman.”

Broderick raised a brow. “The woman?”

“He is with someone. Her form is perfectly clear--but she is not there. She is only there to him.”

“A spirit?” Broderick said in the same soft, smooth tones.

“No… No. She is a--a construct. A Titan program--a guide, and a font of information.”

Broderick’s ears twitched. He’d heard of Information Boxes before, but if the Tauren found one, he’d be read for almost anything. They had to get that Box--or, at least, the piece--

“Is she from anything Atano is carrying, or wearing?”

“From his necklace. It is a disc.”

“Good, thank you. Where is he headed?”

“South.”

Their paths converging? Magnificent.

“Can you see into his past? Why does he want Kaskaeld?”

Lethrena let out a small hum of concentration, her voice strained. Her arms shook slightly, and mumbled things Broderick couldn’t define to herself. He did not want to break her concentration, but did want to make sure he had not lost her.

“Lady Sylvanas,” she said all at once.

Broderick raised a brow. “What of her?”

“She contacted hunters to find Kaskaeld Remor. He stole something of hers. Information of some sort.”

Broderick nodded to himself. The Tauren, then, was goal-driven, as he himself was, but the fight wasn’t personal.

“What happened to the other hunters?” Broderick asked. If there were more coming--

“Atano killed them.”

Broderick raised a brow, and silence again took hold of the tent as he thought. The Tauren killed his allies? But perhaps--they were after one bounty, after all. Still--he wouldn’t be able to be bargained with. That’d be fine--Broderick wanted his head, as it was.

“All right, Lethrena. Thank you.”

Broderick dropped his arm slowly, intent on letting the incense smoulder out on its own, but paused. She hadn’t stopped looking into the waters.

“Lethrena Goldenfire.”

Still no reply. He frowned; typically grounding someone in their name brought them back, at least to communication. He didn’t want to forcibly break her focus--while not dangerous, it was disconcerting, and he’d heard stories of scryers coming down ill due to it. Though, it looked like he might have to do it anyway--

She suddenly let out a soft cry and flung herself away from the bowl and to the opposite end of the small tent, sobbing and curling up. Broderick frowned, looking instinctively into the bowl--a foolish idea, as it was, after all, only water and his pale reflection gazing back in the ripples--then moved quickly over to her, kneeling, putting his hands on her arms to steady her--

She writhed and smacked at his hands. “NO! No--don’t you touch me!”

Broderick blinked then slowly sat back, watching her.

“Lethrena… what did you see?”

She put her head in her hands, sobbing and moaning, low moans of horror and despair. Broderick’s jaw tensed, worried for her, and for whatever it was that might be coming.

“Lethrena--”

“Don’t you say my name!” she hissed, uncovering her face and starting at him, causing him instinctively to jerk back further. “Don’t you dare speak to me, Broderick Redmane!”

His jaw tightened. “Lethrena,” he said, trying to remain as calm as when she was scrying, “what is the matter?”

“Ohhh--” she moaned, looking around the tent wildly. “You-- You and this foolishness you have started--”

Broderick crossed his arms. “We will find who we’re searching for, Lethrena, and--”

“Yes, Broderick! Yes, of course we will! I looked into your future; you get all the things you want!” She spat and seethed, green eyes narrowed to slits of fury, blonde hair draped over her already-darkened, half-covered face. He could see the spit on her chin, and, the more he intently he looked, the more he thought he saw tears spill over her features. “You get it all, Redmane! You get to catch your Tauren, and your Worgen, and me. You get me, Broderick! You defiler-- You heathen!”

Broderick held up a hand, and she paused, trembling in rage. His face, masked as it could be, still was perturbed. “I wasn’t in your vision, my dear; what did you see?”

“YOUR DEAR?! Your dear indeed-- You wish to know all I saw, Broderick?” Her voice raised higher, a frenzy, and were it not for the wind howling outside, Broderick had no doubt that the guards would’ve come running. “I saw what you’ll do to me, when you get your opportunity! I saw you top me, and break the promise I gave to the Masters! You break me in, Redmane, and you corrupt me into holding you close as you do! You rend my vows for your pleasure at my body!”

She sobbed and looked away, trembling in fury. Broderick felt as if he had been turned sideways; he was so intensely focused upon her, but nothing was right-side-up anymore. His throat was burning dry but his mouth was soaked wet. His heart wasn’t beating but his neck pounded with the pumping of blood. His vision was still but his head felt like it was turning. He blinked, re-registering all she’d said, unable to comfort her as he took it in.

“Lethrena,” he finally said, voice slow and barely more than a murmur. “Lethrena?”

“What?” she hissed at him, whipping her gaze back around.

“This vision--it--it does not-- have to come to pass.”

“Of course it does!” she spat, the words still sounding so beautiful in her elven tongue despite being drenched in fury. “Of course it does; visions, once they are witnessed, must come to pass.”

“No, I mean--” Broderick paused, pulling out his short-sword, handing her the hilt. “I mean, Lethrena, that if I am a danger to your purity, your conviction, and your cause, then you must stop me before I can damage it so irreparably. I only ask that you finish our mission here.”

Her eyes widened slightly, looking into his, then her fingers tightened around the hilt, and in one swift motion, faster than even Broderick had imagined her able to move, she knocked him onto his back and straddled him, raising the sword over his heart. The wolf in him snarled in alarm, but Broderick held it down with every ounce of self-control he had, instead watching her a last moment before shutting his eyes, and letting out a slow breath, giving in. Death was the natural course of things; better to be in the service of the Masters than to betray their trust.

He took another slow breath.

Another.

He opened his eyes.

Lethrena lowered the sword, weeping in anguish that he would have found delicious, had it not been her. The blade fell lazily to the floor, and her hands came to rest against his chest. He pushed in at the elbow and she fell against him with a yelp of surprise, tensing as he put his arms around her and held her close, then giving in to the embrace and crying in his arms.

“I hate you,” she murmured. “I wish I had the strength to end your life. But you have already corrupted me. I hate you so much, Broderick Redmane.”

He stared up at the ceiling of the tent, frowning, holding her close to him. There was nothing he could say, nor anything he could do that would be right, and yet they were stuck together, at least until dawn.

It would be a long, long night.

<*>                    <*>                    <*>

Dr. Blam leaned back in his chair, watching the sun go down and the sky turn all sorts of lovely colors. Rhea and her Gilnean buddy had gone hours back, and since then, he had remembered how deadly dull and silent the desert was. He wondered if the reason he named his machines was to have the illusion of someone to talk to--and for the umpteenth time that week, he wondered what exactly it would take to drive a Gnome insane. (For that matter, he mused, were they already classifiably insane? They were, certainly, rather meticulous, compulsive creatures.)

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of hooves beating the ground, slow and firm.

He glanced around, and blinked. Another visitor? Three in one week--one day?! What were the odds?

He brushed off his shirt and made a face, feeling the amount of sweat on his skin drenched through the layer of cloth, but completely unable to help it. He sighed to himself, and looked around for his kettle. Hopefully, this person liked tea.

It was not too much later that a Tauren came by camp, a weird head poking up behind him from a pack--a creature he was carrying? Hieronymus chuckled and waved. The Tauren waved back, moving closer.

“My, you’re a tall one! Dr. Hieronymus Blam, whizz-bang inventor and scientific genius of the Badlands!” He laughed. “What can I do for you, sir? Do you want any tea?”

“Yes,” the man said in a rich voice, deep as the earth he walked over. “Tea would be wonderful.”

Hieronymus beamed. This was a promising start. He started back into his tent.

“Dr. Hieronymus Blam?”

The Gnome paused, glancing around again, heart moving into his throat. The Tauren’s smile was still there, but it was cold and calculated; the kind a man who expects to get his way wears. The kind a man expecting to get his very selfish, very dangerous way wears.

“My name is Atano Tantoren. I’m looking for a few people that I believe might have past this way.”

“Other people?” Dr. Blam said, gulping and smiling innocently. “I don’t remember anyone else coming by recently, besides you, sir.”

“Ah, I see. Well, perhaps I will help you jog your memory. After all, I do need somewhere to stay the night.”

He set his bags down, and from one of them, a plainstrider, with its tall legs and tall neck and odd body--and sharp beak--came out, shaking its feathers out. Atano smiled pleasantly again. Dr. Blam tried to, and failed.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kas and Rhea get to Ye'tka Qoatoll.

Ye’tka Qoatoll had picked the most utterly aggravating place he could have to have situated himself, without it being totally impossible to reach. Dustypaw Hill was, for all intents and purposes, a cliff that was not a jaggedly steep on one side. It still raised up eighty feet, with one side carved away so that only the goats could traverse it, and the other starting in a path that dipped into a small valley first, so that the actual climb up wound up to be about one hundred and twenty feet, snaking up and doubling back around on itself multiple times at a severe forty-five-degree angle.

While it was far from the worst climb Kaskaeld had ever had to go through, it still sucked, and he silently called the Troll every foul word he knew.

The sun bathed the land in the soft orange glow of the oncoming night. Dark clouds rolled, majestic in pink and red, above the land, and Rhea, still held by her bodyguard—and feeling quite embarrassed over it—let her mind drift to fields of nothingness as she watched the sky. The heat of the desert was dissipating against the cool night winds, and a breeze ruffled her hair, making her smile softly. She could imagine, if just for a moment, that things were fine again.

Kas grunted as he ascended the hill, and she glanced at him. She did not remember the last time he had eaten or drank, though she imagined it was at Hieronymus’s camp, and she had not seen it due to work. His brows were soaked with sweat, and his eyes were hard with anger at the terrain. And yet, dutifully, he continued onwards.

“I can walk, Kas,” she said, gently.

He grunted and made no reply. She wrinkled her nose.

“This is doing wonders for my dignity, sir.”

He paused, huffing with the exertion of the climb, and glanced at her. She drew on a bemused smile, raising a brow. His eyes remained hard a moment longer, then broke into laughter, and he set her down, careful despite his arm probably aching. It was, and he rolled his shoulder, wincing hard, bending the elbow slowly and clenching and unclenching his fingers.

Rhea reached up and took his hand, making him pause. She squeezed it in thanks, then let go. He blinked, then his eyes tightened slightly as he smiled under the white hood. They started the ascension again, and Rhea hummed to herself, realizing the steepness of the climb, especially on such a smaller frame. It couldn’t be helped.

An hour later, they finally reached the peak, given pause by the first sign of habitation there: a set of skulls, old, and set up on amateur spears. Kas growled softly, looking at them, but made no attempt to take them down or turn back. They were there for a reason, whether or not they were welcome.

Rhea started forward, and stopped again, tense. The closer she got to the gate of skulls, the more sick she felt--a weight, pressing firmly against her belly, pushing her away. Kas might feel it, but she didn’t know how susceptible to magic he was. To her, it would feel overwhelming, moving closer. But she would not back down.

Sinking her heels into the ground, she started forward, each step gaining ground, each step increasing her pain. Her chest felt as though it was being run through, and the blade had hooks that tore away more the closer she got. Her head throbbed with blood, and she could not hear the desert winds roaring at the hill’s top anymore. She could barely register the shape next to her--Kaskaeld--trudging along, then overtaking her, standing in the way and carving the path forward, deafening the magic only somewhat.

He got to the gate first, and, in a yell that sounded so soft over the blood pumping in her ears, tore the spear immediately ahead out of the ground, flinging it aside. The air distorted around Rhea, and she gasped and sprinted forward from the inertia of pushing herself, stumbling and falling to the dusty ground past the wall of spears. Everything quietened again, and she shivered, regaining herself, ears pounding and head throbbing.

“Whatcha be doin’ ‘ere, mon?”

Rhea looked up, registering for the first time a scene beyond the wall, one that the curse had blocked out. A set of huts stood atop the hill, amidst numerous bleating goats and the occasional lazy lion. A fire burned merrily in the middle of the expanse--though it was more like a bonfire, sheltered by a pit of rocks around it to keep sparks from trailing off.

The huts themselves were strong to fend off the wind, almost fully enclosed to the elements, but built flexible enough to bend instead of break. In the middle of the entrance of the main one, a Troll stood, stooped over as the males usually were, in that race. He was cleaning a ritual blade absentmindedly along his kilt--his top half was uncovered, and, while Rhea certainly wasn’t one to go lusting after everyone, she took no shame in thinking to herself that he was aesthetically quite nice.

“Ye’tka Qoatoll?” Kaskaeld said in a loud voice, far louder than Rhea had heard him say anything before--though still as composed.

“Aye, mon?” Ye’tka said, regarding them carefully.

“Friends of Hieronymus Blam. Need your help with something.”

“Dat’s why ya be tearin’ down my gate, mon?” Ye’tka finished cleaning the blade, leaning against the doorframe. His large, three-fingered hands twirled the dagger with surprising dexterity.

“I tore it down because it stung like a bitch, and probably far more so for my companion here.” Kas gestured to Rhea, setting the sack of eggs down carefully.

“I see,” the Troll said. He bowed deeply, eyes still on them. “My apologies, ma’am; nevah be wantin’ to hurt’cha.”

Rhea stood, brushing herself off, steadying herself. “I’m sure,” she said flatly. “My name is Rheastrasza. I’m here--”

Ye’tka held up a hand. “I know who ya are, Dragon, an’ why ya here.”

Rhea raised a brow.

“No, it ain’t because ya Gnome friend talked too loud--I have my own friends speakin’ ta me. Givin’ me information on ya both, an’ anything else I need be knowin’ for now.”

“Then you know why we’re here?” Rhea said, straightening herself proudly.

“I know ya be wantin’ ta cure your cousins, Dragonkin. Ya tink I, wit’ my skill, can help in such an endeava’. I tink that be a tall order from a short lady, but for you… I help.” He smiled and bowed again, low.

Rhea did not move. “I’m not going to be led around like an ass. Are you able to help us?”

Ye’tka blinked, straightening back up as far as his hunched back would. “Yes, I’m able.”

“And are you going to do so without hiding anything, because it may suit your favor and give you an advantage over us, Troll?”

He raised a brow. “Lady Dragon, I’m almost hurt ya’d think me capable of dat.”

She scowled. “Well, it’s either you keep something for yourself, or you get some form of unflattering payment. No one is good, out here.”

Ye’tka blinked, then chuckled, looking out at the sky and scratching his neck. “Well, now dat’cha mention it, I would be commentin’ dat it’s lonely up here without female company, Lady Dragon.”

“That’s your problem,” Rhea said, looking on flatly at him.

He shrugged. “Den I don’ suppose I need ta help, do I?” Ye’tka turned back into his hut--

\--and found the white-armored human standing there behind him.

He jerked back in surprise, stumbling against the stairs and falling hard onto his tail-bone on the earth below, yelping and hissing and standing again. The human silently advanced, and stood at the top of the stairs, looking on at him. The spirits around Ye’tka went off in waves, buzzing and yelling their alarm, sensing all that the white rogue was capable of. Ye’tka’s eyes widened slightly. The man had such a history of death, of violence. He had brought about the end to so many lives.

The human reached into his pocket, slow, then pulled out a few gold coins, holding them out. Ye’tka looked at them slowly, licking his lips. He wasn’t dead yet; that was a good sign.

“They’re my last few bits of money,” Kas said, slow and soft but making sure Ye’tka heard it. “You’re going to help us. You’re not going to hold anything back. You’re not going to harass my employer in any way, shape, or form. Deal?”

Ye’tka nodded slowly, moving his hand out, taking the coin, but before he could, the human’s hand closed tight, squeezing his fingers to the point of almost tearing the muscle in them. Ye’tka hissed.

“Do we understand each other, sir?” the human said quieter, and Ye’tka thought briefly about killing him--only to shudder, hearing what kind of beast was locked away under the human’s face, one that howled for the blood of anyone who might wrong a woman against their will. He felt the history that gave the rogue purpose, and gulped slowly, nodding.

“I undahstand, mon. I help her; no trickery.”

Kas opened his hand, and Ye’tka took the coins, pocketing them. After a moment, he glanced up at the worgen again. “She’s gotta good heart, mon. Too good for you. But I no cross ya eitha, for different kinds’a respect.”

Kas nodded quietly, moving to the side. Ye’tka moved over to the sack and lifted it, motioning Rhea to follow him into the hut. She did, slowly, glancing at Kas. Kas nodded. She let out a sigh and looked back once at the sun, setting over the desert, wishing she could fly away, weightless, into the sky, and chase the last bit of daylight until the night came and she could find a ledge to curl up on to stargaze until the sweetness of slumber took her again.

But she had a job to do, and so, turning, she went into Ye’tka Qoatoll’s abode, followed by Kas, who greatly underestimated what she would do to protect herself--and to ensure her mission a success.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atano fends off a Trogg invasion.

Night rode in on black wings through the desert sky. Atano and his plainstrider watched the small Gnome calmly, waiting for information. Dr. Blam gulped.

“Tea?” he said, trying to smile.

“You already asked, friend,” Atano replied softly. “I’ll gladly take tea, and we can talk about the other travelers, hm?”

Hieronymus looked between him and the bird. As dumb a creature as it was, it was staying still. Well-trained. Watching him.

He looked back up to the Tauren then cleared his throat.

“Of course! Of course.” He wished that Kas Big-n-tall was still around, and helplessly turned back into the tent.

A screech filled the air, and a stampede of feet upon the dusty ground sounded, coming closer.

Atano whirled, seeing a series of disgusting, squat creatures, dressed thankfully with loin-clothes over their hairy bodies, charging the camp, spears in hand. Koree--no, the Titan disc, not his Koree, he needed to remember that--stood beside him in her flowing robe, looking impassively on. He raised his rifle, barely needing to aim, and fired, blowing a hole through the head of the foremost one and splattering his companions.

His pet squawked and flapped its wings, but stayed by his side. He reloaded quickly, tossing the empty shell in his pocket, but not quickly enough. The attackers fell upon the camp, screeching, and stabbed at him--

He stepped back, calm, grabbing the spear from the squat horror and sent it sprawling back with a kick square to the face. Another attacked and he parried, jamming the spear in between its eyes. His plainstrider squawked and dodged a thrust, flapping its wings and pecking at its attacker mercilessly.

“The turret!”

The Gnome’s voice sailed over the crash of fighting, and Atano glanced back at the smaller man. He did not blame the scientist for cowering with his machines; the size difference all but demanded it. He was gathering blue papers, it looked like; as if they would defend him.

“There’s a turret gun set up in the desert! It’s got regular cannon balls and an electrical overload for if the Troggs get too close!”

Atano glanced around for it, finding the large gun nestled outside the camp. It wasn’t too far, but it would be easy enough for the Gnome to leave--

He stepped out of the way of another spear and dropped his weight, pushing forward and putting everything into a punch that broke at least two of the Trogg’s ribs, dropping it to the ground with howls of pain.

“GNOME!” he roared, looking back for the man, but found that he was gone. He snarled, looking through camp, but found no trace of him. He upended a table of machines, sending them crashing to the ground, eyes wicked with fury.

He turned to the plainstider, grabbing the one sleeping-bag in the Gnome’s personal tent. “Pick up his scent.”

The bird squawked and nuzzled its beak into the cloth, sniffing.

“Atano.”

Koree’s voice broke through the haze of anger, and he jerked his head back to her. She looked over the land, her face for once darkened with concern. She pointed, and he followed her hand--

The ground was swelling with a mass of dark shapes. Troggs.

Atano glanced at the camp again, then out to the turret gun. He growled and took off, running then sprinting, hoping it was set up correctly. It should be--

He jumped in the padded seat, looking around. Ahead of him, the first of the Troggs screeched, and a bullseye target was set above the gun’s barrel. There were two levers on the control panel, and three buttons--one marked with a lightning bolt, one marked with a circle, and one marked “START/STOP.”

The plainstrider hopped up into his lap and curled up. Atano grumbled, sheltering it in his arms, pushing the START/STOP button.

The large machine under him whirred up, raising slightly. A crackle of electricity sounded under him, as did the scrape of a metal cannonball being pulled up and locked in, ready to fire.

Troggs screeched, reaching the machine.

Atano snarled and planted his hoof into one’s face, kicking it away, but more withered claws came up, scratching at him. He looked around, but all sides were covered with the sea off angry monsters--

Koree motioned hurriedly for him to hit the electricity button; he pressed it down--

Light exploded around him, in the desert, and the air singed and crackled around his fur. The turret let out a low booming sound, and a ripple of blue lightning crackled; sparks let off from the initial impact, faster than he could keep track of.

The Troggs within five yards all crumpled, dead.

More screeched, and he wasted no time on looking about. He took hold of the two sticks, and the turret jerked about, raising and lowering, swerving to each side. He got hold of it again, moving it quickly where he needed, lowering the gun into the face of a larger, whiter Trogg beast--

He pushed the circle button, and the seat rocked back and forth as the turret fired.

The cannonball exploded through the head of the beast, sending ten others behind it sprawling, carving through them. His plainstrider squawked, and shuffled itself again in his lap. Atano’s ears throbbed, but he knew if he were on the other side of the turret, they would have shattered. The turret whirred and metal scrapped internally, setting another cannonball in place.

“I suppose I shouldn’t underestimate the danger of Gnomes,” Atano muttered, glancing up at Koree. She returned his gaze and smiled her benign smile. He looked out at the rushing masses again, and took a firm breath.

The turret rocked again and again, cutting holes through the army, but they kept coming. Atano stared them down grimly, blasting them into pieces, wave after wave. They rushed the turret, and when they got too close, he sent out another current of electricity, felling them. The machine whirred slower and louder, after that current, and he growled. It would be very unfortunate if it ran out of juice with so many still coming--

He whirled around madly in the chair, sending cannonballs sailing out every way in an attempt to stop them. He only wanted to go after the Gnome, but they would overrun him if they weren’t dealt with. They would learn, or they would die.

A cannonball tore through two beasts back to back, and the smaller ones paused slightly. Their numbers were significantly decreased; their brethren lay dead or bleeding cold around them. Still, they charged.

Atano pressed the button again.

No cannonball.

He hissed and waited for the Troggs to close in, then hit the electricity.

It whirred and died under him, spent.

He grabbed the plainstrider, placing it up on the console, then stood. The only ones left were around the turret, but they still outnumbered him fifteen to one. He grabbed his rifle again, shooting the closest. Fourteen to one.

Another jumped at him, screeching, snapping its gnarled fangs at his neck, but Atano blocked it with his broad arm. It wrapped its withered form around his muscles, preparing to take a bite out of his shoulder--

Atano whirled around, smashing it into the metal back of the cockpit of the turret, breaking it and throwing it down at its companions on one side, knocking them away. He reloaded again, and another Trogg screeched for him--

He smashed the butt end of the gun into its nose, breaking it, sending it wailing away clutching the stream of blood and broken tissue running over its jaw, and turned to the other side where yet another had boarded the turret, blasting it point blank and sending its small body flying backwards off again.

Claws tore through his leathers into his leg, and he yelled, kicking back at the Trogg that had gotten ahold of him. His bird yipped and battered it with pecks, and Atano turned, hoisting it away from his pet by the throat and squeezing until he felt the trachea pop and the bone snap. Another tackled his legs, and he kicked it away, but another, then another, grappled him. He roared and threw them blindly, feeling their claws scratch at his limbs and their teeth sink deep into his arms, but also hearing them wail with each hit, taking it far worse than they were giving.

He managed to roll over, trapping one under him, crushing its head in against the floor, hearing his bird’s wings going wild, turning. His plainstrider had another down, and was pecking it into oblivion. He barked something, and the bird hopped back, letting the Trogg gasp for breath--

And see the impending hoof bringing down all of Atano’s weight onto its skull.

Its body spasmed then went limp.

Atano panted, bloody and aching, looking out at the night. There was one, running back to its hovel--more like limping. Atano growled and raised the rifle, gritting his teeth and doubling over as pain erupted through his arms, the bite wounds tearing as he stretched the muscles, soaking his fur red. He groaned and raised the rifle again, shuddering, seething, and fired. The last Trogg fell dead, and the rifle dropped out of his arms as they went limp, hands shaking.

He shuddered and gasped, trying to reach down and get his weapon, but barely able to do so.

“K-K--” he hissed, voice strangled as the adrenaline started to wear down and the pain throbbed through his head. “Koree--”

The Tauren woman moved to him. “Atano. You’re injured.”

He spat a low curse in her direction then felt an emotion he’d not felt for a long time. Guilt. He trembled.

“Did-- the Gnome have-- medical supplies--?”

“None that would cover wounds of this magnitude,” she said softly. Atano lowered his head and moaned, arms shaking, dropping to one knee as the tendons of the other leg strained in their own injuries.

“However,” she continued, kneeling before him, robe spotless among the massacre, “if you give me permission to access your body, I can heal you myself.”

He nodded hurriedly, and all at once there was a deep, soothing warmth, moving from the disc on his chest through the rest of him. Koree’s pleasant hum filled his thoughts, and his limbs jerked slightly. Through vague eyes, he saw the muscle tighten together, the skin heal, the fur grow back as it was.

He looked forward at her. She smiled, polite, and he followed her arm dumbly to where her hand rested over the disc, pressed against him. He could feel the warmth of her palm over his sternum. She was warm again, here with him.

In a delirium of exhaustion, he pulled her close and pressed his lips to hers.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ye'tka and Rhea deal with the eggs and get closer, and Broderick and Lethrena make a decision.

Against his wishes, Rhea had somehow managed to lull Kaskaeld to sleep. Perhaps it was an intrinsic skill mothers have, but her bodyguard finally slumbered beyond the light dozing she knew he typically had, though she doubted it was peaceful.

The night winds outside blew, and the stars outside sparkled against the cloudless sky. It was, as best she could tell, close to midnight, and yet Ye’tka had not shown any signs of resting for the night. He had calmly and carefully unpacked the bags (with Rhea’s supervision), tsking over the dead whelplings, frowning as he touched the corrupted eggs, humming thoughtfully at Nyxondra’s. He had made no comments, but merely felt each and proceeded to look over every note that Dr. Blam had made concerning each. It was in this task that he was still occupied.

Rhea’s thoughts drifted to the eggs, but not in a scientific fashion. She wondered if the whelplings understood that she had worked to change them. She wondered if they would have accepted this; if they could grasp the magnitude and the importance of her work. For that matter, if they did hatch, would they try and kill her, or would they think that she was their mother? In a way, she was.

She sighed softly. It had been a very long time since she’d held a whelpling close.

Kas’s leg kicked out in his sleep, and his face twitched in a grimace. Rhea glanced at him again, where she had tucked the fur cloaks around him, and gently patted his hair. She had taken off the mask for him to sleep--and so that it could air out some. He seemed to relax at her touch, if only slightly.

“He has bad dreams.” The Troll’s voice drifted to her ears, quiet, and Rhea looked up to the doorway of their temporary bedroom to find the large, thin man watching them. Rhea continued to soothe her bodyguard absentmindedly.

“I would imagine so.”

Ye’tka crossed his arms, adjusting himself in the frame of the door. Firelight outlined him from the hallway beyond. “How much ya know of his past, milady?”

“He’s told me it,” she said softly.

“Den ya know it’s not fully safe, bein’ wit him.”

Rhea’s face hardened, and through the quiet volume, her words were crisp and hard. “I’m rather tired of people assuming I cannot take care of myself. Formidable an opponent as he might be, I could kill him, if it came to that. And I don’t believe it would come to that, at least right now.”

Ye’tka held up a hand in defense. “I nevah thought ya’d be losing that fight, milady. I simply am… wary, shall I say, of ya company.”

“He can be rather intimidating,” Rhea said with a light smile.

“Intimidating be nothing without the conviction ta back it up, Rhea,” the Troll replied. “An’ he has both the conviction to do so, and the skill to do it very, very efficiently.”

Rhea did not reply. Kas curled up slightly under the cloak, and when she glanced at him again, she thought he looked almost like a child.

“Dat bein’ said,” Ye’tka continued after a moment, watching her pet the human’s hair, “it’s a good thing he’s got a firm sense of morality. Moreso even than you, with whatcha done to get those hybrid eggs.”

Rhea turned her gaze sharply back to the shaman, eyes narrowing. He held up his hand again.

“I no mean ta pass judgment, milady,” he said quickly. “Just sayin’ dat he’s a surprising combination of horrible and excellent. As, I s’pose, we all are. Can ya leave him a moment ta discuss things?”

Rhea raised a brow then nodded, tucking the cloak around the back of Kas’s neck and standing, moving to the doorway. Ye’tka moved, and she left the room, with the shaman following.

They went downstairs to a more secluded, but quite large, room that Ye’tka Qoatoll had turned into a laboratory of sorts. Concoctions bubbled in glass over small fires, with an intricate set of tubes tying some together to drip from one to the next. A large cauldron was set over a stone stove, though it currently had nothing in it. Powders and assorted reagents sat in vials on the many shelves over the walls. The various eggs and the whelplings that Rhea had brought were neatly arranged on a table towards the middle of everything.

Ye’tka moved over to them, and Rhea followed.

“Are you able to stop the engineered eggs from hatching for now?” she said, glancing up at the Troll. He glanced down at her, clearing his throat.

“I believe so, yes,” he said thoughtfully, “but it’ll be a long process. Best an’ fastest would be doin’ everyting overnight, tonight.”

“We should do that, then.”

“Aye, well--” he said, rubbing his face. “Ya askin’ a lot outta me, milady, an’ for very little in return, besides the honor of knowin’ ya helped purify a race of dragonkin. Honor does very little, out here, though it’s good rest for the soul.”

Rhea glanced up at him. “What do you want as payment, Sir Qoatoll?” she said slowly.

He turned to lean against the table, glancing down at her. “Well, I’d say ‘pleasurable company’ but I’d expect ya bodyguard would rip me end ta end. And, ya be more selfless than most dat ask tings of me. I don’ want ta take advantage of someone who’s trying so hard against such odds.”

Rhea’s face burned with a blush, and she took a breath. “I will do anything,” she said quietly, “to ensure the success of my mission.”

Ye’tka watched her calmly, then smiled. “I know,” he replied, voice similarly quiet and taking on a defenseless tenderness she hadn’t expected. “Which is why I don’ want ya to keep me company like dat. Just havin’ good company to talk with; that’s all I’m askin’ of ya. Any question I ask, please be open to, an’ ask whatcha want of me.”

Rhea blinked then nodded. Ye’tka turned again to the table, running his hands over Nyxondra’s eggs. “Besides, mon; dis way, da spirits won’ be beatin’ upside my head.”

Rhea giggled, looking at the eggs, then around at the concoctions. She knew some of them well, but the upper level of brewery was a complete mystery.

“Let me know what I can do to assist you, sir.”

“First things first, we’ll need the furnace set up. Can ya get a fire goin’ in there, an’ pour in about a quarter of dat--” He pointed to a blue vial. “We’ll be usin’ a ton of stuff, but that’ll go first.”

Rhea nodded, getting to work on a fire, setting up wood and twigs and straw, murmuring a spell and blowing along her hand as if blowing a kiss, lighting the straw in the bottom of the stone stove then watching it spread from twig to twig and catch the logs well. She let it grow, then moved over to the shelves, grabbing the blue vial and pouring out a quarter of slow, molasses-like liquid. It pooled in an ugly clot at the bottom of the cauldron, spreading out slowly like ooze.

Ye’tka moved up behind her, three over vials in hand, and poured them in simultaneously, making the assortment of liquids turn from indigo to purple then red then a sickly yellow. He wandered back to the shelves, grabbing more, adding them, going back, and after five or so rounds, there was a thin layer of pale white against the base of the cauldron, like a sea of diseased milk.

Ye’tka cleared his throat, moving over to one of Nyxondra’s eggs and lifting it carefully, moving it over to the cauldron and setting it in. It broke the surface of the concoction and displaced some, letting the ooze spread around each scale.

The Troll handed her a jug of water.

“Pour dat in, please, evenly all around. Over da top of the egg as well; we need nothin’ dry.”

Rhea took the jug, carefully emptying it into the cauldron, mindful of every inch of the egg. Though it was water, it did not seem to dilute the substance, only lifting it about halfway up the egg. She wet the top of the egg as well, where the water seemed to stay in place.

Ye’tka meanwhile crouched down low, taking a vial and splashing the inside of the fire with it. The warm glow shifted dramatically, and the flames turned a stiff blue and white.

Rhea glanced at him as he stood again, and he poured a second jug of water into the cauldron, lifting the level almost to the brim. The egg was not entirely submerged, but as the shaman murmured something Rhea didn’t quite understand, the liquid seeped up the sides and over the top of her precious cargo.

She glanced at the Troll. He smiled lightly and stretched. “Now, we wait.”

“When will it be ready?” she said.

“It will tell us.”

He moved away, taking a large book off the table and going through the shelves, marking what was used. She stood by, watching him, then looked at the pot again.

“So are you an’ your bodyguard dere in love, mon?”

His voice broke the crackle of the fire and startled her. She blinked at him, clearing her throat. “Sorry?”

“Ya heard my question. There’s a difference in inflection between bashful an’ honest deafness.”

She blushed lightly. “I-- don’t-- know… exactly what he feels.”

“An’ you?”

Her face burned. “That’s a very personal question to lead with, sir.”

“An’ you said you’d answer what I asked honestly, milady. He seems very much in love, if too foolish ta understan’ it.”

She looked back at the egg. She thought a moment. “Again, I don’t know what he feels. I asked him to protect me, which he is doing. He told me about the women in his past being taken advantage of; it’s a-- severe point, with him. Though I don’t know if it’s the truth.”

“It is.”

She raised a brow, looking at him. “How do you know?”

“Because I got many spirits about me, milady, at every moment. Dey look into the natures of those around, an’ tell me what to be mindful of.”

Rhea blinked, then nodded. “What do they say to be mindful of, regarding me?”

Ye’tka glanced at her, pausing. “Dey say,” he said finally, “dat ya be very willful, regardin’ dis. Dat any solution I can come up wit be bettah den leavin’ ya without one, even though all dis is only temporary, to slow their hatching. I can’t find a key to ending the corruption, but I can do my best ta figure out ya best options once they be slowed down.”

Rhea nodded.

“They also say not ta ask ya a few tings about ya past, mon.”

Rhea steeled herself. “Family?”

He nodded once. “It’s why I be focusing on da present.” He went back to looking at the shelves.

Rhea looked down. “It’s hard,” she said, making him pause again, “not to love someone who saved your life. I certainly wouldn’t act on those feelings before this mission is done, though--and I don’t know if I’ll act on them at all. He has his own issues to work through, and I’m not sure how much that would impact my life.”

“Ya be good for him, Rhea,” the Troll said softly. “Ya give him purpose when he had none.”

“And I am my own person, sir,” she replied. “I am not here just to give a man his purpose.”

Ye’tka smiled. “I nevah said dat was all ya be here for, milady. My apologies if it was interpreted such.”

She nodded. Despite the heat of the fire, the substance in the cauldron looked like it was hardening rather than bubbling.

“I would imagine, Sir Qoatoll, that you have no one you love, out here?”

He chuckled. “There are a few people dat come to me dat spend nights, if dat’s ya question.”

“It’s not.” She watched him calmly.

His smile faded. “No, I s’pose it wasn’t.” He walked back to the table, setting the book down, then looked at her steadily.

“Full truth of the matter, milady, is dat my family had someone for me to marry. Dey be wantin’ alliances wit’ otha shaman tribes, which I understand, but it be at da price of free-will. So, I was married in, an’ my wife was a wonderful lady. Howevah, she no be right for me, an’ both her and I knew dat. She took up seein’ one of da guards to da village, who admittedly was a very lovely woman, an’ I wit’ da daughter of the leader of da town. She was far bettah for me, but she was ta be married off an’ sent away.”

Rhea listened, frowning slightly. Dragons had no arranged marriages. They mated whom they desired, and they were intimate with whomever they loved. No foolish politics surrounding that.

“She wanted to run off, wit’ me, an’ came one night askin’ me ta come wit’. I was torn; da honor of my family wit’ dis tribe, or my own future; my own love. An’ try as I would to tell her all dis, she wept an’ said dat even bein’ poor wit’ me; even bein’ low farmers, and spat on when we went ta sell our crops, would be bettah den livin’ away from me. She put my hand on her belly, an’ I felt dat we already had our future together.”

His face was drawn tight, and the shadows of the fire played over his tusks--and against his dark eyes, Rhea saw the bitterness and sorrow of loss.

“But even wit’ dat guiding me, I was foolish. I was arrogant, an’ my position in society drove me more den the purity of dat fair creature’s love. I was afraid, an’ she was not. The day before she was to leave, dey found her body lyin’ at the bottom of the cliffs, washed clean by the sea.”

Rhea said nothing, watching him with pity. He moved to her--no, to the cauldron, and reached in, lifting the egg out of the white goo that clung to it. It had a light blue aura around it. “Dis one’s done.”  
He carried it back to the table, setting it aside, grabbing another, turning--

He almost dropped it, seeing a Troll woman where Rhea had been standing. She had similar red hair, like fire against her blue-purple skin. Her eyes opened--the same red of the Goblin’s. Rhea had changed her appearance for him.

He gulped, raising a brow, moving over to her and putting the egg into the cauldron carefully, unable to look away.

“I thought perhaps,” she started--and it was still Rhea’s voice, lower and soft but still hers-- “that my company would be better appreciated in this form.”

Ye’tka’s brow furrowed. This woman was too kind to be here; too kind to be tossed in with him and the crowds of the Badlands. “It’s-- a nice gestuah.”

Rhea watched him a moment, then opened her arms. He glanced at her, shivering, then moved in, hugging her gently. She was warm, and her heart was even and kind. She held him to her as she would family, and after a moment her slim fingers brushed his hair. He shivered harder, laying his head against her breast, wracked with feelings that were so long gone he’d thought he might have gotten rid of them.

<*>                    <*>                    <*>

Broderick had not dreamed of Mary since he had joined the Twilight. His wife was dead, and he knew that, but her auburn hair still felt soft against him, and her breath was hot against his cheek. Her lips caressed his face and under his jaw, finding those sensitive, intimate spots. She looked at him desperately, then he felt the fullness of her kiss on his lips, and held her tight against him.  
When his mind was pulled more fully from sleep and his eyes opened wider, he saw Lethrena against him in the tent. He raised a brow in severity, and loosened his arms from her to push her away, but she slammed them back down to the ground, moving over him.

“What is the meaning of this--?” he started, feeling his face burn with a longing blush.

She pressed her lips down against his again, and against his strengthened will and the resolve of his vows, he kissed back hungrily. She pulled back, breathless.

“Lethrena--”

“Shut up!” she hissed at him, chest heaving with the exertion of passions untamed. “Be quiet, Broderick. Just be quiet.”

He flexed his wrists against her grasp, but she had pinned him with power that surprised him. He gulped, trying to rein in the lusting wolf howling to be let loose.

“I thought it was you who hated me, Lethrena, for corrupting you thus.”

She trembled hard. “I dreamt… I dreamt, Broderick.”

“What of?” Vivid dreams after scrying were not unheard of. In fact, all of the scryers Broderick had talked with mentioned that it was more unnatural if that did not happen.

“Of us, my love. Of the future.”

Broderick growled in spite of himself. “Is this a trick of the Masters to test my will, Lethrena?”

“No,” she murmured, eyes tinged with such pain at that thought that Broderick felt guilt he even suggested it. “I promise it is my will that governs me, now.”

“The same will that wished to kill me, for awakening this--”

“Broderick,” she said, stopping him. “I saw our children.”

He stopped, watching her. He stammered. “The Masters would never allow--”

“The Masters will fall,” she murmured. He balked; those words were impossible--if anyone heard them, she would be killed--

“They fall, my love,” she continued, not heeding his concern. “Whether we wish it or not. “And when they do, all who serve them will die. But us-- we leave, now. We never go back to those camps. We kill those who have wronged you, and the guards are tricked away from us, and we run. We go to Nagrand, in Outland, and have our own farmland against the floating isles and their waterfalls and the sun. We have such a family, you and I, and you are never afraid of letting that beast come out.”

“Lethrena…” his voice was strangled, barely holding on to control. She touched her forehead to his, trembling.

“I did not know such affections existed, Broderick. I was given away, and found by the Twilight when I was so young still. I did not know such love could exist. Please-- please let that future come true.”

He looked up weakly at her. Her green eyes stared back, then shut, and her lips met his again. He relaxed, but his body stayed firm, giving in to her. The morning was far off, and it gave them all the time in the world to destroy their old vows, craft new ones to each other, and dream of that future which had finally bound them together as one.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atano tells Koree the story of their past and she enacts it with him.

The desert was blessedly cool at night. From the mass of Trogg bodies that lay by the turret gun, hyenas and carrion birds squealed and rushed in delight. Atano had dragged himself back to the Gnome’s camp and collapsed into sleep, but awoke feeling warmth at his side.

The Titan disc’s manifestation was lying on her back next to him, looking up past the tent at the stars.

Atano felt his bird on the other side of him fluttering with sleep. The night was quiet, and blessedly no other Troggs had come out to get them. He shut his eyes again to try and sleep, but his mind raced, and he opened them again to watch her.

Every blemish on her features was exact. Her fur was brown and white and spotted exactly right, her eyes amber with a hint of red deepening them. Her pale tan horns curved up slightly, and just in front of her ears, two small braids of hair fell. Even her mannerisms, though relaxed, were the same; her walk, her inflection, the way she clasped her hands across her belly while waiting for him to speak first. And she was--her eye glanced his way, then back up at the stars.

“Lovely night,” he said, looking up again. He was, likewise, on his back. The tent obscured most of the view, but that served to make the rest more beautiful--or some poeticism like that.

“What quantifies ‘lovely,’ Atano?” she said softly.

“Something you enjoy viewing, I suppose. Something you don’t want to look away from, because it’s pleasing to see.”

She “hmm”ed. Atano glanced at her again. Her legs were crossed at the ankle, and the thin white robe remained perfectly unblemished against the desert sands.

“You have a very strong affinity for this form?” Her voice was, as ever, politely curious. Atano cleared his throat, looking away.

“Yes.”

“She was your lover?”

“Yes.”

“She is gone?”

Atano said nothing, but the silence spoke for him.

Koree turned to her side, facing him, scooting closer to be fully against his side. She lifted herself enough to free her arm, then rested her head on her hand, looking down at him. Her other hand moved over his chest, covering the Titan Disc.

“Tell me what happened?”

Atano gazed at her a long moment, then swallowed and looked away to the stars, sighing to himself. She was just as warm as Koree had always been, and there was nothing he could do to prevent himself from disobeying her wishes. He looked back into her expectant eyes, and remembered:

 

“Koree’s tribe neighbored mine, and while they were not always the best of friends, they respected us and we them. There’s no other way to survive, when you’re desperate.

“Koree’s parents were nothing special; just farmers like the rest, who knew how to fight if the situation called for it. They believed that skirmishes had their time and place, especially defensively, but she was brought up to live and learn by the land, which always gave her a gentler touch.

“My own were almost exactly the opposite—they were farmers, but that was while they waited for the next fight. Even the smallest battle was something to look forward to, and when it came, they were foremost in the tribe as the Braves that would fight for us. Thus, I learned off the land as well, but it was to cut down and reap what Koree learned to sow.

“I think I had been alive six or so seasons when I first saw her. My parents had taken me and my four siblings to the market Koree’s tribe hosted, and I, being a foolish child, wandered off.

“The stalls held numerous treasures, especially for youth. Fresh fish, good fruit, clothing of many styles and lavish dyes, dreamcatchers and quilts, clay plates and basins—all with shopkeepers who were both amiable and guarded.

“And there, in the middle of one such stall, her.”

 

Atano paused, smiling wistfully. His arm moved around the manifestation’s side. She had access to his physical form to heal him, and in turn that drew him in to her, giving her the texture of reality in his mind.

 

“Her parents stood helping customers, selling fruits, berries, spring water. They were a smaller stall than others—perhaps exaggerated by her three older siblings there too, helping organize the wares—but they seemed far more pleasant, and I cannot recall a moment when their smiles faded away.

“She was small, like I was, and in the stupidity of one struck numb with emotion, my first thought was to ask to pet her, as she looked very soft. With her family there, of course, I was extremely timid, and so I sat down on a small hill opposite them and watched.

“It took barely a minute for them to notice me, and after another few, Koree’s mother came over, quite pleasant, and asked if I was lost or if I needed any kind of food. I shook my head and asked what her daughter’s name was. She blinked at me as if I were born with three eyes, but answered my question. Seeing that I was struck numb and rather immovable, she stayed with me, chatting benignly, until my own parents finally tracked me down.

“My father bought some of their goods, more from apology than anything else, and my mother chatted with their family for some while. We were invited to come visit, and, though my parents were rather conservative about social situations and shy, they found it would be impolite to refuse. I did not once get a chance to interact with Koree herself, and I am not sure if she even saw me, that day, though her older brothers did and murmured to themselves about how she already gathered admirers.

“Our family went to them for dinner, and what we thought would be an awkward encounter became quite a pleasant evening. We were invited over many times after, as they were to our home. Koree was, perhaps, the most shy of all, and when questions were posed to her, out of politeness, she took quite a bit of time before answering in a small voice.

“We grew older. Each of our older siblings went off to find mates; some gone for quite some time. They came home, of course, with a family, and settled down on land close enough that we could still have such cordial meetings. Koree had blossomed into a maiden herself, and it made me very conflicted. The war raged inside over whether I should pursue my affections and show her tenderness, as I wanted nothing more than to be with her, or I should spend less time around her, so that I would stop freezing in her presence and, perhaps, so that there were no unsavory rumors floating around.

“I did not have to do anything, however.

“In our tribes, mating rituals were--mandatory, after a certain age. The couple that wished to mate--who usually already had, but for appearances, had not--went before the elders of their tribes and announced whom they wished to go out into the plains for a week. If they returned and the Mother of the Earth had seen fit to nurture them with food and water so that they had not had to spend all day hunting and finding shelter and instead spent it creating a child they brought back in the female’s belly, they had mated. If she was without child, they were still considered unmated, even though many couples moved in together afterwards anyway.

“I was timid to ask the elders permission to go out into the plains with Koree--I was even timider to ask her and her family if that was acceptable. I worried heavily over what I would say to the elders if they paired me with another female--the worry only increasing when the winter ended and spring began, and the day grew nearer that these fertile rites would be mine to participate in. Like a fool, I did nothing to advance myself in her gaze; if anything, I went on more hunts than usual to try and avoid the inevitability of my affections being dashed away forever in another pairing.

“And yet, one night, after the typical meal and joviality between our families, when I was tasked with feeding the kodo pets we kept, I was stopped from re-entering my house by her form. The lantern on the porch showed her outline, yet I knew it was her: the air of grace in her movements, the proud and selfless posture, the curve of her waist through the soft dresses she always wore. She was watching me, and I, stricken by her image, watched her with wide eyes and a quick, pounding heart.

“She made her way off the porch, stepping gracefully along the grass, coming closer to me than I’d ever allowed myself to dream. She approached without fear, yet her face displayed a mixture of curiosity and sorrow that almost brought me to my knees. In a soft voice that the blue sky itself could not match in purity, she asked, ‘do you hate me?’

“I realized they were the first words either of us had ever said directly to each other.

“I shook my head rapidly no, stammering all the while, horrified that so many years of shyness had resulted in such an error. ‘Oh,’ she said, still a bit unsure, ‘I am glad--’

“She began to say something else then stopped, looking out into the night. Her expression bore the weight of months of stress, and my concern overruled anything else I thought. I reached out to her, and, putting my hands on her arms, asked if anyone had hurt her. If they had, I would have killed them. She did, indeed, feel very soft.

“She shook her head, looking down. ‘It is foolish,’ she said, ‘but I am afraid of what tomorrow will bring.’

“I was confused, but I realized that the tomorrow of which she spoke was the last day for willing couples to go up before the elders--midday, it would change, and they would assign pairs. Koree was my age; she would go before them, just as I would.

“In retrospect, I suppose I must laugh at the irony: so many years avoiding speaking to her because of finding her so overpoweringly beautiful, and the first time I do, I had the option to ask her to be my life-mate.

“I asked her timidly if she had anyone she was going to them with, and she shook her head again. Something came to her voice, but she stopped it from reaching my ears the first time. I asked her to repeat, and she let out a strangled sigh, looking up at the stars above.

“‘Atano--’ she said softly, ‘our families are together because you found me lovely. You were so quiet to me, growing up, and so many times, I’ve caught your eyes looking away quickly. I hoped that you would speak to me, before this day, or that you would do more than politely clean up after me when asked.’

“I felt my face burn with a blush, and looked down. My hands let go of her arms, and dropped, but she herself caught them, holding them tight, pulling them to her bosom. I gulped and looked up to see her eyes, fearful but determined.

“‘I asked your family if I may be your mate, should you wish.’

“My mind went blank. I gaped, and she continued quickly: ‘I’ve watched you for many years in return, Atano. A young Brave in the making, growing up with me. The curiosity and repulsion that the young feel for the opposite sex turning into the desire to know more about them--I’ve felt those things too.’

“In the daze of stupidity, I mumbled that she had never repulsed me. A blush spread across her face quickly.

“‘I have no one else I could imagine spending my life with,’ she murmured, ‘as I have so imagined spending it with you. Every night, one of these joint feasts, or perhaps just a quiet night at home--but either way, to be close to your side, to know you as more than a handsome face--’

“She paused, and seeing no change in my shock, murmured, afraid she had embarrassed herself, ‘That is, if you want me?’

“Before she could utter another sound, I pulled her against me. I had never had a woman show romantic interest in me, nor had I ever experimented with another, and so I knew nothing of what could be done regarding intimacy. If I knew how to kiss her without it being a horrible experience for the two of us, I would have, but as I did not, all I could think of was pulling her in tight against me and letting her feel the strength and warmth of my body, as if it might tell her how much I cared for her.

“We spent the night speaking of absolutely nothing important at all.

“The next morning, we went hand-in-hand before the elders and asked to go out to the fields for our mating rite. As we were from two tribes, the request prompted us to wait, and when we asked again, it was under the scrutiny of twice the amount as normal. One circle of elders is already an intimidating thing, yet two--

“Koree was afraid, but she did not show it, save squeezing my hand tight. I gripped hers with as much fear, yet I made sure to relax that hand to give the sense of reassurance and bravery. My thumb stroked over her hand, and I could feel her whole self relax.”

 

The Titan recreation put her hand over his mouth, and Atano paused, blinking in surprise. She smiled politely, reaching over and taking his hand.

“Show me?”

Atano blinking, then glanced that their hands. Their fingers slowly interlocked, and his large thumb ran over her smooth fur. Whatever technology it was that had gone into this being, it had replicated the feeling to perfection.

Atano glanced at her again, seeing her look away, blinking. Her brows furrowed almost imperceptibly, and her eyes shut a moment, then the start of a sweet smile touched the corners of her mouth.

“Please, continue.”

Atano continued:

 

“The elders, in scrutinizing us and conferring among themselves, saw no reason why the tribes shouldn’t overlap. They accepted our request, and, as was part of the ceremony, a priestess came forth and anointed us with salt water and incense ash, which mixed the four elements. She bade us strip, and we did, and anointed us further. We blushed, yet it was unspoken that this was tradition, and no discomfort would make us forgo tradition.

“I did my best not to linger, in my gaze, yet it was the first time I had seen her naked. In my family, nudity was not something shameful to cover; if it was hot, we went sky-clad, because it was comfortable. It did not denote intimacy the same way other races view it as such. Seeing her form was nothing new from what I had already known--but I had not seen her, nor she me, and we both breathed cautiously, as if breath would not continue to come.

“But, the priestess anointed us, we went out, and came back mated.”

 

“Mm?”

The Titan construct made a small noise and frowned softly. She opened her eyes, looking at him again.

“But where were you anointed? What happened in the plains?”

Atano blushed, clearing his throat. Even if this was not Koree, her image was still not something he could deny, try though he might.

“That is--extremely--private information--” he tried to say, but she cut him off, moving her head off of her hand and onto his chest. His stammering ceased. Her large eyes blinked once, and her fingers squeezed his.

“Tell me.”

Atano continued, murmuring:

 

“The priestess anointed different places on either of us. She focused on Koree first, and drew ashen symbols over her forehead, her solar plexus, and a few inches under her belly button. She did the same for me--the rest however…

“She traced symbols over each of my love’s breasts, murmuring a prayer they would grow full with milk for the young. She knelt, tracing another over my love’s belly, murmuring for it to be blessed with the fullness of a family. She drew another much, much lower on her belly, murmuring a blessing I did not hear.

“She traced the three I mentioned earlier on me, then one on each arm, murmuring prayers for strength. She knelt and did the same for my legs as for my arms, then touched places I had never felt another being touch, blessing them for fertility. She stood and moved away.

“Koree and I were both tense from the treatment and blushing, though the elders seemed more satisfied by that, as it confirmed our inexperience with such matters. Our hands still were kept together, and after a moment, the priestess returned, binding our wrists together with a thick cord.”

 

Atano paused, frowning. There was a weight against his wrist. He glanced down, gulping, seeing that she--of course it was her; it had to have been her--had bound their wrists together--and that their clothes were gone. Koree smiled politely at him. He gulped.

“Koree--whatever it is you might be… why do you want to know this story so badly?”

She blinked, looking away in thought, her other hand moving to his chest and brushing it absentmindedly. She was almost laying over his leg, he realized, and looked back up quickly.

“I want to know,” she said finally, “because it is my directive to learn and understand all that I do not previously know. Your culture is one I have secondary accounts of, but I have never heard from one who has experienced it, nor experienced it myself. Pardon me, if I seem forward, but I want to know. I also want to know why this form is simultaneously pleasing and displeasing for you, Atano.”

“Not displeasing,” he mumbled, drawing her in tighter against him. “Never displeasing.”

She said nothing, looking confused.

“I do want to know if this is just to learn, or if it’s because you care about what I’m feeling,” he said after a moment. “I’m not just here to be your lesson.”

She blinked, thinking over the words for a long moment, then nuzzled her nose against his chest. “You are worth more than a lesson, Atano.”

He hugged her tighter still, and continued:

 

“We were led by the elders through the main street of town and out past the fences of spears. Both tribes gathered around us, watching, our families included. None stopped us, none questioned us, though none save our families seemed to smile with encouragement. They simply witnessed us, unsure what to think.

“We were told to walk until we could not see the town anymore, and we did. The sun above was hot but the breeze through the grass was pleasant and cool. The plains were well-vegetated, and as we walked, we found many berry-bushes and fruit-bearing trees. These were good signs. When the day wore on further, we paused in the shade of one of the trees, wishing for water.

“As if on command, Mother Earth sent us the soft sound of a rushing river, nearby. We made our way to it and bent over it, lapping up all we could get. Fish swam about, interrupted by our faces and tongues, and one wriggled itself along my nose, causing me to pull back first. Koree glanced back, then laughed, seeing me rubbing away the feeling of scales, and bent over again. I came down for a second drink, but my mind was emptied from anything else, for before I fell again to the stream, I glimpsed her—all of her… bent before it.

“We stayed close to the fruit-tree and the stream, even finding a small break in the grass where we could rest ourselves. The light fell in the sky, and the stars above were beautiful. The breeze grew colder, and we made a fire. I even made a circle of torches around our camp. The wild cats of the plains did not bother us, and we were left to our mating rituals.”

 

Atano paused, unsure what Koree--the disc--would say. Would she ask to know this too? His heart was beating hard in his chest, and he cursed that he was so weak.

Her amber eyes watched him with simple curiosity, and he trembled slightly in their gaze. He opened his mouth to proceed in telling her the details, but no sounds came out. How could he describe something like that?

She watched him a moment then sat up, for the first time looking over the rest of him. The cord vanished. He glanced away--while it was nothing he had not seen, this was not his mate; it was respectful not to--

Her soft hand moved to his cheek, turning his face back. His jaw clenched, and despite his heart’s hammering against his ribs, he forced his breathing to be steady.

“I know of intimacy,” she murmured. “Procreation. Recreation. Pleasure. That is what you did?”

Yes, he thought, realizing a moment later he’d uttered the word.

She nodded, looking him over again. Her face was masked. For as much as Atano might guess correctly at the emotions of others, he never could read Koree’s face.

In a swift motion, she moved away from him.

He sat up, looking at her, almost reaching out but stopping himself. She set their traveling cloaks down properly on the dusty ground of the tent, and laid back among them, watching him. He gazed over her form; so beautiful, so long lost.

She touched his arm. The cord reappeared.

“Come,” she murmured. “Show me a mate’s love.”

He moved to her and sunk against her. The night beyond them trembled and sighed; the wind blew quick then pleasantly slow. It whipped up the hot desert sands, pounding against them, raising them high and falling so gently back down again. The night wore on, frenzied, and finally, with joyous aching, settled back under the vault of stars above.

Atano slept with her form in his arms, yet he did not simply hold her. He clung to her, and she draped herself against him, soothing the fears of one who had felt and lost so much. She knew him, now. He had opened himself up fully to her.

Koree had been his mate for too short a time, and had borne him two blessed children before tragedy struck. He had been off on a hunt, and had come back to discover the villages burning. A group corrupted by the Old Gods had taken those who could be made slaves, or ingredients to their potions, and killed the rest. Atano tracked them, found them, murdered them. His parents and siblings had fought and lost, and were already killed. His children had been used for unspeakable rituals. His mate was a broken woman, barely holding on to sanity, working in the digsites to uncover their Masters. Atano came and saved her, but she was too far gone, succumbing to her wounds without even registering his presence.

The campsite around him became a massacre.

A patrol from Thunder Bluff found him the next day, still covered in blood and dirt, having dug a grave for those worth burying. They took him to the city, bathed him, helped him recover, but his heart was hard. He went out hunting again, and the more he did, the less morality he lived by, until he simply hunted for hire. He hunted now a man who had stolen a formula from the Banshee Queen--a formula that would bring about uncountable deaths; a plague.

Koree frowned, resting on her lover.

He had such potential, yet he was burdened. He had done terrible things. He would continue to, perhaps. His goal was to get back the key to the destruction of untold hundreds; fighting someone else’s war. And yet he had treated her with compassion and tenderness that implied he still had some left to him.

Her purpose was to learn, and she had learned. Her other purpose was to protect these infant races of Azeroth. Atano’s goal countered hers--and perhaps, in traveling with him, she could change him--

But that was not her purpose. It was not her responsibility. If he changed, he changed, and she would treasure such companionship. This form she had taken on was accurate in everything, and it had felt the pleasures he brought.

But if he did not change his goal, she would not hesitate to kill him for the betterment of the whole.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kas is rescued in Gilneas by an old friend, and Ye'tka informs him and Rhea it's time to get moving.

It was raining in Gilneas. Granted, it always seemed to be raining, but this time, there was particular darkness up along the clouds.

Kas shuddered awake, body racked with coughs. His throat felt like fire; everything felt like fire. His eyes blinked open then shut again tight. The light was blinding--he was in, where? Where was he? The last thing he remembered, he’d been… where?

The basement.

The wolf-man.

He started awake again in painful clarity. He could feel his arm; it hadn’t been bitten off--nor, now that he focused on it, did there seem to be a pain over the bite-marks. It should be stinging like a bitch; the wolf-man’s fangs had sunken in deep.

He grunted, and frowned. His voice was deeper for some reason. But where was he--?

He winced, trying to get up and failing, looking around weakly. Some of his scars had opened again; he could feel them against fresh bandages. The cottage--

Kelleniana’s.

Kas relaxed slightly. The hermit-girl was strange, but she was the closest thing to a friend he supposed he had, right now, even with Tanlia hanging about. The amateur alchemist had probably done what she could to heal him, and she’d be out longer--

No… no, she was standing there, by the alchemy table. Except she was--larger, darker--

A wolf-woman.

Kas hissed and tried to sit up, body seething in pain. He fell back to the bed in anguish, and an unmistakably annoyed voice met his ears:

“Down, boy.”

Kelleniana’s--though it was the huskier bark of a wolf. He groaned, and again his own sounded deeper. He blinked, delirium catching again, but he could barely move, much less form his own coherent thoughts.

The young woman glided over to him, a small bowl in hand. She put it to his lips--but it was still away from his face, somehow. His lips were further away?

“Drink, Kassy. Drink.”

Her paw came up, petting his hair. Kas shuddered--she had vicious looking claws. His eyes lulled slightly as the concoction fell down his throat. It tasted horribly bitter, but he knew Kell. She was not going to kill him--which was nice, seeing as she killed most men that tried to get close to her. Even her petting his hair… his mane… it felt quite wonderful… quite…

She felt… good...

He blinked up at her, dazed, then shuddered again and moaned. The liquid had made its way to his chest, and it seemed at once furiously cold and searing hot. His chest contracted, expanded--every muscle tightened and he whimpered like a dog. She put her muzzle down against his forehead, soft voice murmuring to him that she knew he could do it, c’mon Fuzzy.

Suddenly, it was over, and he gasped. A weight dragged down from his stomach to his core, and he felt as if he was going to be sick. His body heaved, but nothing came up, and he fell back to the bed, shuddering. It felt as if all that potion had hardened into a stone in the center of his belly.

Her paws moved to his face, and she looked firmly into his eyes. Even with pitch black fur instead of tan skin, her green eyes were exactly the same. He smiled weakly.

“You going to kiss me, Kell, or feed me more poison?..”

She snorted and moved back, rolling her eyes. “Men,” she grumbled to herself. “Thinking with their hips instead of their heads.” She moved back to her alchemy table, putting the corks back in bottles.

“Welcome back, Kassy.”

Kas blinked. “‘Welcome back?’ What happened? Where was I--?” He tried to get up and let out a heaving breath. He wasn’t going anywhere for quite some time still.

Kell turned back to him, and Kas for once saw a strange expression on her usually cold, cunning face. Pity.

“You were bitten in the City,” she murmured. “That was almost three weeks ago.”

Kas frowned. It hurt. “What-- happened-- Kell?”

She moved back to his bedside and took his hand. He looked at it, and his breath caught in a strangled gasp. She was speaking, telling him that the Barons had hunted for him and others, that the others were captured or killed, but he escaped, that she’d found him and nursed him to health, that her potion was to stabilize his condition--

But he didn’t hear those words, caught up in horror. His arm was fur.

He was a worgen now.

 

Kas jerked awake with a harsh twitch. Something was pressed against him, and looked at it.

Rhea’s small Goblin form had huddled up in his arms for warmth.

She stirred and mumbled something but he relaxed and spoke softly of nothing, coaxing her to sleep again. She fell back easily to slumber, curling closer against his warm chest. His arms were already around her, in instinct, and he kept them there, not wanting to disturb her any. It felt good to have a warm body curled to him, anyway.

He dozed, but no more dreams came.

Before dawn, the Troll entered the room. Kas glanced up at him, and Ye’tka seemed rather surprised to see Rhea’s proximity to her bodyguard, but said nothing of it. The Troll looked tired, but he was all business, and Kas knew there was something that needed saying.

As gently as he could manage, Kas shook the Goblin woman awake. She grumbled at him twice then grunted and blinked angrily, coming back to the waking world. She pushed away the hair that fell against her face as she pouted, and she sat up with a stretch. Kas propped himself up on one elbow, and withdrew the other arm from around his employer as she quickly batted at it, face flushed with embarrassment.

Ye’tka stood still at the door, waiting for them. Rhea registered he was there and wordlessly got up, stretching once more before going to him. He smiled politely and bowed.

“Ya eggs be sittin’ pretty, milady. All set and ready ta go.”

“Thank you,” she said, wiping the sleep from her face. “They’re stabilized?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the Troll replied, “though they not be outta da woods yet.”

Rhea nodded, eyes hard and set to work. “Is there anything more you can do for them?”

Ye’tka shook his head. “I got no otha tricks up my sleeve ta help stop this corruption. It’s far beyond what I can do.”

Rhea looked down, nodding slowly. The eggs were stable, though; they wouldn’t fully hatch. There was still time to find a solution.

“I’ve got an idea, but it be a bit’a a long shot, mon,” Ye’tka said suddenly. He grinned, face lighting up handsomely. “Thankfully, I got good luck: long shots be good wagerin’.

“North’a here, the Explorer’s League has uncovahed a new set’a Titan ruins beneath the sands. If dere’s anyting oldah an’ wisah den Dragons, it’s Titans. Hell, da spirits murmur rumors dat the Titans created the Dragons.

“Talk to Durdin at da camp--’e’s the lead prospectah dere. He’ll have more information for ya than I do ‘bout Titans.”

Rhea waited for him to say more, but he fell silent. He caught her gaze and cleared his throat.

“What I tell ya, mon? It’s a long shot.”

She sighed inwardly and nodded. She was going against such impossible odds--yet, despite a few setbacks, things had been going her way for once, regarding the eggs. Now, back to wild luck riding on an already slim chance. It couldn’t be helped.

She glanced back at Kas. He had already packed their supplies up from the guest bedroom, and, mask squarely on his face again, stood watching for her orders. She had hoped, selfishly, for at least a full night’s sleep, but it was not meant to be.

They collected their eggs, wished Ye’tka Qoatoll well, and went out into the cold, whipping winds of the Badlands night. Dawn would soon come, and by that time, they would make their way to the Explorer’s League camp, and perhaps, finally, the salvation of the Black Dragonflight.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Broderick and Lethrena plan, and Ye'tka gets another visitor.

Dawn slowly eased itself over the desert sky. In Fuselight, Fritz yawned awake and started to get up out of bed, but Sally stopped him, dragging him back. On top of Dustypaw Hill, Kas and Rhea were gone and Ye’tka fell asleep dreaming of the beautiful Troll woman Rhea had conjured up. Atano finally had a decent rest in the arms of his beloved. Broderick and Lethrena woke and murmured.

“There are fifteen guards,” Lethrena said softly, head resting against his chest. “What shall we do?”

Broderick petted her side absentmindedly, thinking, eyes shut and a mild frown covering his face. He had cast his lot in against the Twilight, with Lethrena, and there was no reason to let the guards live. However, they were hard-working--more than that, Broderick knew, they were fiercely loyal, dedicated soldiers, and Broderick respected that enough to wish for more than a sword through the back and an unmarked ditch for them.

Lethrena’s fingers stroked along her lover’s chest, and she looked from his face back down to nothing, nuzzling closer.

“They need to die,” he said finally, “the question is how, and when? If it is before we come across our quarry, we may not achieve our own goals here. And I want those we hunt dead.”

His grip around her slender form tightened. She kissed his chest softly, soothing.

“They will die,” she murmured against his skin. “They will all perish, my love.”

His tension dissipated. “But if we wait for our prey to be slaughtered, then we will be expected to go back to Lady Azalia’s camp with them, and will almost certainly be found out.”

She hummed softly, thinking, continuing her gentle caresses. “Are the guards proficient in portal-making?”

Broderick glanced at her, then away, thinking. “There are one or two that are able to, though that would require the right resources, which we currently have in extremely small supply. Once we kill our prey, then we’ll use the portal to get back.”

“Then if something happens to the supplies, or to the the guards who know how to use the portals…?”

“Then we’ll be walking back to Lady Azalia’s camp.”

Lethrena smiled. “And will have plenty of opportunity to escape.”

Broderick smiled back, though it was dimmer than hers. This betrayal was still fresh, for him--and while he had committed to it, everything passing by seemed a blur. Especially with her close.

Lethrena kissed him again then moved away. “We must clean off, my dear, and quickly. The light is coming fast. We’ll be on our way soon.”

Broderick nodded and got up with her, cleaning off with the frigid waters pumping from the heart of a subjugated water elemental. He made sure to be thorough, as did Lethrena, and they wasted no time dressing again. Soon enough, they started along through the desert again, and came across Dr. Blam’s camp about midday, marveling at the shut-off machinery and the massacre of Troggs.  
But the camp itself was long empty.

<*>                    <*>                    <*>

Ye’tka woke mid-morning and got up for the day. He yawned, tired still, thinking to himself of Rhea’s troll form. Perhaps they would cross paths again, and he could get closer to her still…

Ah, the thoughts of a man alone in the desert, save the spirits around him.

Ye’tka sighed and focused himself properly. There were numerous experiments he conducted alchemically, and the peak of Dustypaw Hill made for a wonderfully controlled environment. Solitary as it was, it meant he could produce whatever he wanted without interruption, judgment, or interference. He had solved several low maintenance diseases, but had to make sure they were more than a fluke before he could sell such potions and knowledge to whomever wanted to furnish him with living wages--

The wind sung into his ear. He had another visitor approaching. Big and burly, and--

Ye’tka frowned. The spirits muttered cautiously of this new person. He himself would have to maintain his guard, perhaps even with weapons--

But the spirits were also curious about something. This was no ordinary--Tauren, yes, at least in body, by the name Atano of the Tantoren family in the Braveheart tribe--but he was altered. By years of violence, his heart was grim and hard, but physically he was being altered by something--a jewelry piece. An amulet. One with its own consciousness--

They fluttered about Ye’tka’s hut, murmuring to each other, and no one had seen before the kind of amulet he possessed, so they asked the older ancestors, tracing back and back and back into depths Ye’tka could not follow even if he focused on doing such.

Finally the answer came back to his ears, as this Atano Tantoren approached the wall of spears. It was a Titan relic, one that provided information, one that was slowly eating away at him. It was not exactly a disease, but it was transforming his body to be like--

“Like what?” Ye’tka murmured to them. His Uncle Janako, who had died fighting off wild boars a decade back, frowned and glanced to Ye’tka’s grandfather, Umboru, the main spirit that assisted the shaman.

Umboru remained silent a long while, before saying solemnly that the Titan relic held the power to create realities within the user’s mind. It gave him the image and even the texture of someone else, but it was far less real than a vision-quest. The more the user allowed that to become reality, the more their body would slip away from tangibility into total control by the Titan relic.

At that moment, the sound of deep, heavy hooves outside stormed past the spears.

Ye’tka went out, calm, guarded, and found himself facing the huge Tauren man. Next to him, he could make out the barest outline of a Tauren woman--not a spirit, but the relic’s fantasy in his mind. A plainstrider squawked next to them and groomed its feathered side.

“Hello, mon! What brings you up here?”

Janako murmured that he was after Rheastrasza and Kaskaeld Remor, and Ye’tka made a small noise in his throat, affirming that he’d heard his uncle.

Atano raised a hand in greeting, face trying to look friendly. “I’m looking for two people, friend. I followed their trail here; I was wondering if I might find them, with your help?”

“Oh?” Ye’tka said nonchalantly. “I rarely get visitahs, mon. Besides, the ones I do get don’ stay long. So anyone ya lookin’ for probably be gone.”

Atano watched him calmly a long moment. Koree’s tail swished. “He can see me, Atano.”

Atano glanced mildly her way. His lover watched the Troll with surprising concentration. She had helped immensely get to this point--when the trail had gone cold at Dr. Blam’s camp, she had worked her way through the databanks of the machines there and found that they were unsuccessful at cleansing the eggs, and the nearest known ally Blam had was Ye’tka Qoatoll. His blatant coolness towards them secured the knowledge that Rhea and Kas had been there.

“He has spirits about him warning him,” she said, straightening herself.

Atano looked back at the Troll. He was unremarkable for his race--similarly hunched over as most of the Troll men were, lanky, slim. But he did have an edge to him--and if he had ghosts about, Atano knew there’d be little hope in lying.

“They probably would be, aye,” Atano said finally. “And if I heard from you, sir, where they were going, I could be on my way again and leave you be. I don’t want to impose upon your home.”

“But ye are, mon,” Ye’tka said coldly. “Ya be imposin’ by wantin’ them dead.”

Atano’s finger twitched, but he did not reach for his rifle. He needed the information--while Koree could perhaps find out what happened from the contents of this man’s home, it was just easier to get it from him there and then. Besides, the spirits would have warned this Troll, and he had the upper hand with whatever he could have in that home to kill Atano.

“They are your friends, then, sir?”

“Aye, mon. The woman more than the man, but aye.”

Atano smiled slightly. “It’s more with him that I have my business.”

“But dat no mean ya let her go, Atano Tantoren.”

Atano’s jaw gritted tight then relaxed again. “If she gets in the way, I will do what I must to get to him. Ye’tka Qoatoll.”

Ye’tka stayed where he was on the porch. Atano stayed where he was, by the gate. The wind whipped against their clothes, and the mountain creatures bleated and grumbled.

“I don’t much care what happens to him, if I’m bein’ honest, mon,” Ye’tka said after a slight pause. “Howevah, he be helpin’ Lady Rhea in her endeavors, and dat be worth it ta me to make sure nothin’ happens to him until his usefulness to her is done.”

Atano nodded calmly. “Fair.”

“Know ye what her mission out ‘ere in these damned wastes is, mon?”

Atano watched the Troll calmly. “She’s using the eggs of a Black Dragon to try and fight their corruption.”

Ye’tka nodded slightly. “She’s engineered eggs dat now be stuck in a hibernating pattern, with my help. She’s trying ta unlock the key to their corruption, because with dat, she not only save new hatchlings of the Black Dragonflight, but perhaps even whelplings and adults. She’s tryin’ ta save a whole race, mon, with Kaskaeld Remor’s help.

“And,” Ye’tka said louder, voice taking on an edge as he pointed to Koree, “I don’ tink ya lady-friend dere would wantcha to cripple a well-meanin’ and borderline successful attempt to cleanse corruption on Azeroth. Considerin’ that’s the purpose of you Titan things.”

Atano glanced at Koree. She still regarded the Troll thoughtfully, then glanced back at Atano. Her eyes were polite, but they were defensive and hard-edged. Ye’tka had spoken truth. She was not going to help him, before the Dragoness’s efforts succeeded or failed.

“I can do one ting for ya, mon! Since I now pissed ya off so much.”

Atano glanced back, eyes narrowed to fury. It had better be good, else Ye’tka Qoatoll was going to join his ancestors.

“I can help ya wit’ her.” The Troll gestured to Koree again.

Atano raised a brow.

“Right now, ya be a little bettah den me an’ my spirits here. Ya interact, an’ maybe touch, but it’s nothin’ permanent, and it’s draining, aye?”

Atano glanced at Koree again. Her tail swished back and forth, and she nodded slightly. He frowned; he hadn’t want to put a strain on her.

Umboru and Janako had murmured to Ye’tka about the fate of the Braveheart tribe, and about Koree Tantoren’s end. Atano was a shell with so little left to live for in this world; why not give him his own with his love? Ye’tka knew, even if the offer wasn’t accepted, it would keep him alive:

“I can make ya real, for her.”

Atano looked at him again slowly, and Ye’tka didn’t need a spirit to notice the longing that burst forth from the walls the Tauren had put up. The only problem now was figuring out the potions to do just that.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kas and Rhea make it to the Dwarven camp.

The sun burned through the sky, heating the sands of the Badlands under their feet. Rhea and Kas trudged along, and finally the Dwarven campsite appeared. Rhea’s lips were cracked, and she could feel her throat getting parched.

As if on cue, Kas held out one of the waterskins, and she took it gratefully.

They hadn’t had much in the way of conversation. Kas was quiet by nature, and she was, though finally awake, too busy ruminating on the ultimate fate of the eggs to want to chat much. For every word not said, though, there were the silent nods to each other, the slight smiles, the deep breaths and held gazes that made up for good conversation.

The Dwarven camp was on a slight hill against one of the many huge plateaus of the Badlands. Large rocks protected it from the front, and guards watched lazily on either side entrance. They perked up, seeing the Human and the Goblin, and waved them down.

“Hail!” one called out, calm but on-guard. “Do ye have business here, or are ye simply in need of shelter and refreshment?”

Rhea straightened herself, proud. Her form almost matched their height--though not their stoutness. “Business!”

The guard nodded. “May I ask what kind’a business, ma’am?”

“Well you may, sir, but I have no obligation to relate it to you.” The guard blinked, and his companion snickered. “Unless you’re the Lead Prospector, here? Durdin, I believe is his name?”

“Aye!” a deeper voice called from up the hill. “Come up and state yer business ta me properly, then. But no weapons out, if ye please?”

Rhea nodded, glancing at Kas. He nodded under his cowl, daggers hidden at his sides and sack slung over his shoulder. She started up the hill, the guards clearing their throats as she passed and looking over her bodyguard cautiously.

The camp itself was quite pleasant: tents set up against the cliff-face, a campfire in the middle of them with a cooking pot over it, a large area to the side dedicated to work with tables and tools and artifacts carefully arranged. A gryphon and its owner rested in the shade, the huge bird squawking and grumbling about the heat but being accommodated as well as was possible.

Lead Prospector Durdin himself came up from the campfire and greeted Rhea cordially. A floppy brown hat hid his hair, and his clothes were covered with dust and sand and soot and sweat--yet somehow his amber beard was still lush and well-groomed, going down in a bushy braid almost to his knees. He took her hand lightly and pressed it to wherever his lips were under the mass of facial hair.

“What kin I do for ye, lass?”

Rhea smiled politely, taking her hand back when it was let go of. “First, sir, I am rather curious why such a peaceful expedition needs so much security.”

Durdin’s smile faded a bit, and he nodded. “An understandable query, lass. Quite sadly, we’ve had to adopt a bit of a more secured policy in recent days. There’s a few things ‘round here tryin’ ta kill us already--an’ that’s just the wildlife.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Then we have the competition. But enough about that fer now--what brings ye here?”

Rhea smiled, putting on a sweeter edge to her voice that almost made Kas wince. “I’m researching different species found here in the Badlands, sir; I had heard that this was one of--no, the best--digsite that could help with my research into Titan artifacts?”

Durdin practically purred. “Titans? Ye wanna know about Titans?” A hand stroked through his beard, and he straightened, quite tall and impressive--for a Dwarf, taller than Rhea but not even close to Kas. “Well ye came to the right place, lass!”

He glanced around then leaned in with a grin. “We’re on the brink of somethin’ big.”

Rhea smiled back to him, then glanced back at Kas. Her bodyguard was scanning the camp quietly. Typical.

Durdin glanced up at him too. “Rather large sack fer just regular travelin’ supplies, there, lad.”

Kas glanced back at him with those piercing dark-brown eyes, illuminated further by the white cloth covering the rest of his face.

Durdin raised a brow.

Rhea chuckled. “The sack there is my research. My assistant here doesn’t talk much; you’ll have to forgive him, sir.”

“Aye,” Durdin said slowly. “I can see he doesn’t. Ye look like a man well-prepared fer things.”

The camp around them was quiet, watching. Durdin nodded to himself.

“Bein’ prepared is good. Especially out here. That’s why we’re all prepared, aye?”

Kas nodded slightly. Durdin smiled, cautious, then glanced back at Rhea.

“I am curious,” he said, taking up that boisterous tone again, “about yer previous studies, so if I could detain you here, lass, to chat things over, that’d be wonderful. As fer yer tall friend here, I’ve a request for him--since I’m nae as trusting as my beard is long.

“I’m happy to talk Titans with ye, but priorities first. I’m not just going to sit here and tell you everythin’ we’ve discovered in those ruins; we’ve got problems to take care of! More specifically, you, sir, if ye please!”

Durdin pointed at Kas. Kas waited for him to elaborate.

“Most pressing is those upstart Reliquary hooligans, just on the other side of the tomb.” Durdin’s face soured, and Rhea had to bite back a laugh when the man practically stamped his foot. “They’re makin’ off with all our loot! Don’t they know diggin’s Dwarf work?!”

He glanced at Kas again. “Hunt down a few of their ‘excavators’--more like bandits if ye ask me--and bring some of these precious artifacts back here, aye?”

He looked back to Rhea, softening. “Then we’ll talk Titans, lass.”

“I’ve a request too!”

Durdin blinked and turned to the Dwarf who had raised his voice. “Sigrun--”

Sigrun pouted. “What, Durdin? I kin appreciate a good diggin’ as much as any other Dwarf, don’ get me wrong, it’s just that… well, we do so much diggin’ an’ so little drinkin’ that sometimes I wonder if I should just hang up me shovel and head back to Ironforge.”

Durdin rolled his eyes. “He does this every bloody mornin,” he mumbled.

“What, Durdy? A Dwarf’s got needs!”

Durdin flushed bright red, hissing at him. “Don’t ye call me that!”

Sigrun stuck out his tongue from his own beard. “All’s fair in love, war, an’ archaeology--” He turned back to Kas. “--which is why, lad, I’ll be askin’ ye to go visit those Dark Iron Dwarves just north of here at Hammertoe’s Digsite. They make some powerful fine beer, right here in the desert. You think you could pick up a few for us here? It’s damned tortuous to only have water ta drink!”

Rhea had to stop biting her lip before it drew blood, and resorting to a loud cough to let out her humor. Durdin put a hand over his face, mumbling curses, then looked up at the Gilnean through his fingers.

“Aye,” he said, voice drowning in sourness, “if it’ll shut him up, would ye please run that bloody insignificant errand too, lad?”

Kas glanced at Rhea. She glanced back at him, pausing. Something was on his mind; she could see it in his eyes.

Concern. For her--

She smiled softly and put a hand against his. “I’ll be fine, here. You can leave that--” She nodded at the sack. “--with me. No one will disturb it.”

Kas nodded and set the sack down gingerly next to her. He watched her carefully, then looked over the Dwarves again, then nodded to himself and strode away out of camp.

Durdin cleared his throat. “Interestin’ company ye have, lass. May I take your cargo, there? I’d prefer to chat by the tents so we’re nae taking up space here.”

Rhea watched her companion go. “I’ve been getting that a lot,” she mused, then glanced back to the Dwarf. “Yes, thank you, but please be careful with it.”

Durdin bowed. “As careful as I would my own child, lass.” He grabbed the sack and hoisted it up with a breath, being true to his word but straining. Rhea walked with him, sitting down by the campfire. Durdin set the sack down with a groan next to her, letting them down gingerly to the ground then waving his arms, wincing and letting the muscles rest.

“Damnation but that tall fella’s got some muscle to him.”

Rhea chuckled. “That he does.”

Durdin sat down with a THUMP! on one of the log stools they had set around camp and sighed. “Where’d ye find him, if ye don’t mind my inquirin’? I may have to get help like that around here sometime.”

Rhea laughed softly. “Around Fuselight.”

“Ah.” Durdin made a face as if he were sniffing something unpleasant.

“It’s not my kind of crowd either,” she said calmly, looking over the cooking pot.

Durdin watched her a moment then followed her gaze to the pot. “Ah!” he suddenly cried, causing the camp to jerk their heads about to him. “Where are my manners? Are ye hungry, lass? We’ve got some— ah…”

He glanced into the pot, blinked, grabbed the ladle and sniffed.

“Rabbit stew? Vernon, is this rabbit stew?”

Vernon glanced up from the mining supplies, a very dusty pickaxe in hand. “I’ve no idea, sir; it’s whatever the birdie picked up for us last night.”

Durdin frowned. “Ah.”

Rhea smiled and grabbed one of the clean bowls, helping herself. “It’s fine, whatever it is; I’m not picky.”

“Not picky is good!” Durdin grinned. “Archaeologists kin never be picky. We don’t get much stability wherever we are--an’ we kinnae choose what we’ll find, to be sure.”

“And what have you found, sir?” Rhea said with a light smile.

Durdin grinned. “Yer cunning, lassie, but I told ye we’d be discussing Titans afterwards.”

She smiled. They had found something. Good.

She took a bite of what certainly was not rabbit stew--some kind of prairie dog, perhaps, or one of the mountain lions. It didn’t much matter to her, though--aside from fellow Dragons, meat was meat.

Rhea took another bite, realizing she’d been starving for something other than bread and water. The camp was very pleasant; it was civilization--or the closest thing to it, out here, besides Fuselight. She almost purred, watching the little Dwarves bustle, and suddenly a pang of loneliness filled her heart. She was the only Red here. Definitely in all of the Badlands--perhaps in the entirety of the Eastern Kingdoms, though she doubted that.

Either way, home was such a far ways off.

Durdin asked her about her studies, and she smiled, relating the studies of Azerothian races she’d conducted, omitting that it was far prior to these past years and keeping out details of the Black Dragonflight. It wasn’t that this Dwarven man was untrustworthy, but she desperately needed to keep information limited, and it seemed as if it was flying out every which way.

The archaeologists seemed quite intrigued by her and her studies. So much of them were trivial curiosities; pass-times while she waited for orders from the Queen. Yet, she supposed, these Dwarves might not have had the travels she herself had experienced, and maybe some of these names were completely foreign.

Kas quietly reappeared soon enough.

Durdin noticed him first, waving cheerfully. Kas had another sack slung over his shoulder which seemed full. The guards yelped in surprise, and Durdin’s joviality faded slightly seeing that the rogue had made it through their defenses completely undetected--though so detectable a man.

The Lead Prospector got up and went to him, clearing his throat. “Yer bag looks heavy there. Heavy with liberated artifacts, I presume?”

Kas nodded, setting it down carefully. Sigrun ran up, licking his lips in anticipation. Durdin scowled at him, setting him in place, and opened the sack.

Mugs of beer, crafted to look like tiny barrels and lidded against the desert sands, rolled out. Sigrun squealed in delight and snatched one up before Durdin had a chance to watch him, popping the top and practically upending it down his gullet. Durdin watched in disgust as the other man suddenly spluttered and coughed, pausing in his inhalation of the stuff.

“Woo, this stuff is strong! I knew they had beer, but I never expected them to have shadowstout! That’s my favorite shadowbeer!”

He went back to it. Durdin turned back to the sack, grumbling and wading through the beer to find his goods.

He pulled out a chalice, beautifully painted. Gemstones appeared to have been pried from its settings. “Worthless.” He tossed it aside.

He pulled out a vase, dusty but exquisitely carved in a High Elvish pattern, now cracked, chipped, and old. “Counterfeit.” He tossed it aside.

He pulled out a tablet of stone, upon which a hieroglyph was drawn, an ancient word in a forgotten tongue. “Interesting, but rather common.” He tossed it aside a bit more gently.

He pulled out a rock and gasped. “What’s this? I’ve never seen Trogg craftsmanship of this caliber! You’ve stumbled upon something rare indeed, laddie! Come look at this--”

Durdin scampered off excitedly, showing it to the other Dwarves, who all Ooooohed and Aaaaahed over it. Rhea watched them, mid-bite of her second bowl of stew, bemused. She glanced over to Kas, realizing his eyes were on her. She smiled and waved. He nodded.

“All right!” Durdin said, grinning ear to ear, moving back over to Rhea and motioning Kas over. “Let’s talk Titans, shall we? The truth is, milady, we did find things--”

He paused and blushed. Rhea raised a brow. Kas took his place at her side.

“Well, ah-- it’s rather embarrassing to say, really. Once those Reliquary honks got here, we panicked, and we all just started looting indiscriminately.” The camp seemed to collectively clear their throats and turn away, save Sigrun, who was into his third drink. “A lot of bad archaeology happened that day.”

“Luckily, Olga--” --a female Dwarf perked up her ears and gave Rhea and Kas a dashing smile-- “--happened upon this.”

Durdin held up a small jade statue.

“We thought it to be a key of some sort, but, ah… we can’t… exactly… figure out what it opens. Maybe you’ll have better luck with it.”

He handed it gingerly over to Rhea, and she looked it over. It definitely seemed Titan in origin, though the jade was cool and the carving, a bulky, faceless humanoid, was devoid of any spark of activity. She handed it gently to Kas, and he looked over it too.

“As well,” Durdin continued with a smile, “we very nearly had this statue stolen from us by one of Bloodwatcher’s Reliquary stooges.” He held up a similar humanoid, carved from white rock. “We managed to catch him in the act, and we’ve retrieved the statue, as ye can see, but it hasn’t really paid off… Again, seems like a key, but I never found the bleedin’ lock inside those ruins.”

He handed it to Rhea too. Rhea stroked it absentmindedly.

“Howlite.”

Durdin blinked. “Ah?”

“It’s howlite… nothing, sorry.” She smiled back up at the Dwarf, taking the jade statue back from Kas and looking through their similarities.

“I’ve got a li’l proposition for ye, if yer int’rested!”

Rhea glanced up. Sigrun had wandered over, smiling quite devilishly. Durdin grumbled and turned to restrain him, but Sigrun tsked and brushed him away. “Listen. Those Dark Irons were here before Durdy an’ this crew arrived. That means that once these Titan ruins were opened up, they were the first ones in there, lootin’ all the good stuff. I’ll bet they still got those treasures locked up inside Angor Fortress, northwest of here.”

Sigrun swung an arm around, pointing at Kas. “YOU! have more’n proven yer ability to wallop a Dwarf, considerin’ this brew; nae would part with it, I’m imaginin’--so head on into that fortress an’ wallop yer way to that Titan treasure, aye?”

He grinned. Kas glanced at Rhea, and she looked to Durdin. He appeared thoughtful, then looked at the rogue. “He’s got a point, actually.”

Rhea nodded. “We’ll see what we can find, there.”

“Good!” Sigrun said. “I’d go with ye, but I’m drunk.”

He stood there, blinking, then turned and wandered off back into the camp. Durdin sighed heavily.

Kas started back out along the northern part of camp. In the distance, built into the hillside, the black stone of the fortress loomed, terrible and deadly. He paused a moment, looking it over. Rhea came up next to him, holding their sack of eggs, looking at it too.

“They usually keep their treasures in the basement, I believe.”

He nodded. She took a breath and started out. “So, let’s go.”

Kas raised a brow. “You’re coming with?”

She glanced back at him and smiled. “Of course. You don’t expect me not to see for myself what this Titan relic is, do you? And I certainly can’t just leave these here.” She shrugged her shoulder with the sack over it.

“I expect you to stay safe.” He took a step forward. “It’s my job to keep you safe here. That isn’t a safe place.”

A smile played against the edge of her lips. “So, when we get there, keep me safe.”

She turned and walked north into the desert. Kas watched her back a long moment, blinking, then smiled quietly to himself and followed.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fight for Angor Fortress and what treasures were found.

Angor Fortress stood, a square tomb for the unaware traveler, cut from stone as dark as obsidian but dulled, overlooking the desert expanse. The northern cliffs of the Badlands were impenetrable, save from the air; the other side was a deep scar in the world, a valley that separated hot desert from the snowy hills of the Dwarves.

The Fortress was all strategy, and the Dark Iron Dwarves who had cast in their lot with Ragnaros, the Fire Lord, held the imposing edifice with a tight fist. No one got in, no one got out--not if they didn’t want it.

That is, until Rhea marched through their gates.

The first round ebon-skinned, red-eyed men and women yelled, charging her, but they fell suddenly, blood pouring from brand new wounds. Rhea trudged along grimly, hating the foolish loss of life, but she wouldn’t let anything stand in her way. Kas’s blades were swift and the closest thing to a humane death the battlefield would provide these fire-worshipers.

He stood true to his name and reputation. She did not see him--she could barely sense him as a heat-form, dancing around her--quick and shadowed, cutting down her enemies where they stood. If they were left alive, they would be a threat, but she’d at least asked him not to be cruel about it.

The second wave watched her, and one yelled: “ROGUE!”

Kas’s presence discovered, the least she could do was distract--but she had no need to; the one who yelled it went still and wide-eyed, gurgling blood, a dagger through the front of his neck, then pulled back. Kas was visible. The other commanders there yelped and readied their weapons, too slow, falling to her bodyguard as quickly as the others.

“KREEZHAN!”

Kas hit the ground, ducking underneath a bolt of frostfire as it sailed above. Another warrior charging him took the hit square in the chest, rearing in agony and trying to scream as his body hardened to ice and cracked. Rhea’s eyes narrowed--whoever that was, it was powerful magic.

Kas jumped over the frozen Dwarf as another bolt flew out from the doorway, using the unfortunate soul as cover, waiting for the spell-caster to draw breath before quickly lifting the ice statue and hurling it at the mage. Rhea did not see them--hanging back outside while he cleared the way ahead; the front of Angor being designed so that the doors were, in fact, narrow and difficult to enter, but easier to leave--but she heard the resounding CRACK! of ice and a shriek. Kas wasted no time--following the icy Dwarf as it flew, ducking inside with litheness she still was surprised by, and the shriek abruptly cut off.

Rhea ducked her head into the building. There was a clash of steel--one of the large Dwarven broad-axes was parried by Kas’s small blades and ricocheted off the ground, the owner trying to recover but slashed across the throat.

Rhea carefully pulled the egg sack through the doorway, brushing it, making sure there was no tearing from the frame’s sharp edges. Behind her, there were yells and the wet sound of penetration. She shuddered.

Finally, it ceased, at least for the moment.

She glanced around.

Kas stood in the center of what she could only call a bloodbath. His deermane armor wasn’t stained red--it was soaking. She knew that, it being fur, the remnants of gore would come out with vigorous scrubbing, but she didn’t know where he would find water enough to do that. She blinked, then cleared her throat.

“I’ll get a water spell.”

Kas glanced her way. His eyes were shut, still concentrating. He tilted his head slightly.

“For your armor. To wash it out, after this.”

He nodded.

There was a clamor from downstairs, and a rush of metal through the air, then stillness. The army, ready, in their waiting marks for whoever would show up at the top of the stairs.

Kas had disappeared again when Rhea glanced back his way.

She waited, moving forward as quietly as she could through the hallway, through the bodies, trying not to get her shoes wet with blood.

“Rhea.” Kas reappeared at her side.

She glanced at him.

“There’s a fire elemental downstairs.”

She blinked, then nodded. He had physical weapons; they wouldn’t harm the elemental unless they were enchanted--and if he was telling her, that must mean that he wouldn’t be able to take it out on his own. Magic would; she would do it. If it was distracted with him, it’d be easy enough to destroy.

“Are there many guards?” she murmured.

“About ten at the left entrance--four snuck around the right. They’re trying to ambush you from the back. They split up into groups of two--I should go take care of them quickly.”

Rhea suppressed another shudder.

“Do what needs to be done.”

He nodded quietly and slipped away. The blood along the floor crept in further, and she grumbled, carefully tiptoeing around to a drier spot.

From the hallways behind her, there was another sound of violence and death, but quiet, then another shortly after from outside, about to come in. She sat down atop an alcove, slightly hidden in it, sack on the floor next to her, and waited.

Kas reappeared, calm and collected--in the moment, ready.

“How are we tackling down below?”

Rhea frowned slightly.

“I imagine the easiest would be for you to go down behind them?”

He nodded.

“Then if I appeared in front of them, would you be able to cut through them before they get to me?”

He thought a moment then nodded again.

“Okay. At which time I imagine the elemental will have noticed you and send fire your way. So you duck out, I’ll deal with the elemental, and we’re set.”

Nod.

“When do you want me to appear?”

Kas was quiet, then: “30 seconds from-- now.”

He moved swiftly back around the other corner and vanished from sight.

Rhea watched him go, counting in her head. These buildings were symmetrical; she’d curve around, and there’d be the stairs going down. She grabbed the eggs. No point leaving them here--she’d put them down out of the way closer to the stairs.

10.

She moved as quietly as she could, making her way around the corner cautiously. There were stairs going down, although she could not see the bottom. That was good, in a way--she’d be poised to strike but with the twists and turns, could make her way back easier than just being chased up them. She set the sack down, very carefully, and stood up tall.

20.

She made her way to the top of the stairs and descended the first few, slow. Down below, she could hear the sound of armor, rustling quietly, the wearers tense, poised for battle--

There was a sudden yell and a commotion.

30.

She jumped down into view. The front line’s attention was split between the stairs and the sudden sound behind them--Kas behind, carving through the two lines of warriors, one spell-caster starting a hasty incantation, but Rhea yelled something, and a gust of air knocked them off-balance, interrupting it, then they too were taken care of by Kas’s blades--the front line glanced back at her and charged her, and she ducked up the curve again. An axe swung for her leg, but she retreated back further, and the warrior’s friends were beset by the rogue. He glanced back too, overwhelmed, trying to defend, body suddenly jerking forward as a dagger buried itself into his heart.

A low, unearthly yelling filled the chamber just as quickly, and the air seemed to be drawn in towards the center, past Rhea’s view-point.

“KAS!”

The fire elemental unleashed its spell, and a wave of heat burst forth to the stairs, frying the dying Dwarves. Rhea gasped, fire enveloping the stairs, and Kas--

Kas--

\--threw himself forward, putting a hand over the back of her head, knocking her back onto the obsidian stairs, shielding her with his body. The heat seared up the stairs, but it was nothing, especially for a dragon.

He pulled back slightly, covered in ash and blood, head turning back over his shoulder. Rhea looked up at him, still breathing hard with the adrenaline coursing through her, then at the stairs too. There was a roar from the elemental that shook the area.

“Think you made it mad, Kas.”

He turned his face back to her, and under the cowl, she could make out a tired grin.

“Keep its attention on this side. I’ll corner it from the back.”

He nodded. “Be careful.”

She raised a brow and smirked. “I’m not the one being fired at.”

She squeezed his arm before realizing she had put her fingers around it.

Kas got up carefully, helping her to her feet smoothly. “Quickly.”

Another roar, closer.

Rhea nodded and rushed up the stairs, sprinting through the corpses, around, turning, down the other stairs--

A huge ball of concentrated fire with arms grown out the sides and a tail connecting it to the floor stalked up the opposite stairs--

\--turning to see her--

She roared an ancient word of power, and the walls of the Angor Fortress shook with her might. The elemental held out an arm, trying in vain to stop her or at least beg for mercy--

She pushed her hand forward, and the power rushed through her, surging out, pushing into the elemental--

It arched away in fury and pain and exploded, leaving only a black, smoldering core, which fell dully to the floor, rolling a tile or two before falling still.

Rhea relaxed. The fortress went still and silent again.

Kas slowly padded down the stairs, the sack over his shoulder. He opened his eyes, looking at her, then at the elemental core lying still. She walked down into the central chamber of the fortress and looked around. There wasn’t much out of the ordinary; there were certainly artifacts, but nothing Titan--

Ah, there was a chest, towards the back. She smiled, moving to it, then pausing, glancing back.

Kas was still on the stairs, watching her, a sudden shyness about him.

She resisted the urge to smirk. “Coming?”

His eyes practically lit up, and he moved quickly to her side.

She knelt, throwing open the chest--

There was only a tablet inside.

She frowned slightly, picking it up. It certainly was Titan in origin--but it was nothing that was going to help. It was a series of runes--as best she could tell, it depicted the story of Golganneth. Nothing more than a polished, granite repository of ancient lore.

“Worth anything?” Kas said softly. Rhea stood, dusting it off, glancing over her shoulder at him.

“To the Dwarves, yes… not to us.”

He nodded. “I’m sorry.”

She blinked, then looked back at the tablet. “It’s fine. We aren’t going to always strike gold.” Though all the bloodshed was for nothing…

She sighed, and her shoulders slumped slightly. Kas put a hand over one. It was very large--and very warm.

“The Dwarves will appreciate it, at least. And, we should see about the tomb, to the south. That might have something better. I have a spare bag--”

He reached for the tablet, and she handed it over. He placed it in the bag, smiling lightly.

“Shall we get out of here?”

“Let’s.”

He turned to ascend the stairs, but stopped. Rhea hadn’t moved. He turned back.

She looked so tired. She had been so sure--so sure--that something might have been here. Maybe there was something at the tomb, but--if the tomb was simply the leftovers, what hope was there? She couldn’t--wouldn’t--give up hope, though. Even if there was the slimmest possible chance, she had to pursue it. She had already come this far, and this was very, very far indeed. Still…

Large arms wrapped around her, and she gasped, broken out of her daze. A strong body pressed gently against hers, though it was still awkward and light.

Kas was knelt down, attempting to give… her… a hug?

She glanced at him.

“I’m out of practice,” he mumbled awkwardly. “And I don’t want to stain your robes.”

She smiled weakly and hugged around his neck as best she could, shutting her eyes and resting a moment. It was exactly what she needed.

The world was warm and safe and still.

Rhea pulled back and smiled up at him, then kissed his cowl over his lips, ever so lightly. He balked, blushing as deeply as his hair. She couldn’t contain the smirk this time.

“That’s for being a good hug. Obviously. Now c’mon.”

She moved with a purpose up the stairs, and Kas quickly moved to follow her, drawing the cowl up his face further as if to hide under it.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ye'tka advances in helping Atano--and is ambushed.

Ye’tka Qoatoll was running out of time, and he knew it. More than that, he had the sinking suspicion that Atano knew that he didn’t have a potion ready--or even one that would be ready for perhaps months. But he had to keep up the show, and he did, toiling restlessly in his alchemical workroom.

His ancestors had gone silent, and that was a bad sign. They had nothing more to whisper for help, guidance, or even foolish anecdotes. They were simply watching and waiting.

Atano sat with his plainstrider in the middle of the room, turning on a small stool to keep full view of the Troll at work. Koree watched also, marking down in her annexes the different reagents used. It had been hours, and all the Troll had done so far was look over his wares, mark down potential combinations and test them, marking down a second round of what worked and what didn’t. There had been no mixing in his cauldron, or even a confident movement.

Atano felt the weight of the rifle on his lap and smiled darkly. It was loaded.

The hours dragged on, and Atano watched beads of sweat roll down the Troll’s brow. His smile deepened. Where he could not find the pleasure of pleasant company, there was a sick joy to distressing someone in the subtlest fashion. It was the closest thing to entertainment he had in his recent jobs.

Koree watched him intently. Her brows furrowed, slow, until they were set in a deep frown. He glanced at her and blinked, realizing for the first time how diabolical he appeared. He let his face relax to calm boredom, and a pang of guilt filled his breast--one he resented bitterly but could do nothing to push away.

Ye’tka’s anxiousness suddenly broke, and the shaman audibly gasped.

Atano glanced around to him again. He was still bent over his notes, but there was a newfound determination. A grin spread along his features, and a small voice in Atano’s head murmured that the man was actually quite handsome. Atano chuckled to himself, and Koree smirked. He glanced at her again and paled slightly. She raised a bemused brow.

Ye’tka dashed across the room, fumbling through a rack of reagents, finding a small vial and pulling it out, looking it over, uncorking it, sniffing. His grin became a beaming smile of excitement, and he dashed back to the work-table his notes sat on, hastily drawing up a potential solution.

Atano stood slowly and made his way over. The Troll didn’t notice until the Tauren’s huge shadow covered the light. Ye’tka paused, glancing up, smile fading to nervousness again.

“You have something?” Atano tried to soften his gaze as much as possible, offering a smile that he thought looked friendly enough. It seemed to confuse Ye’tka rather than comfort him.

“I-- ah-- yeah, mon,” Ye’tka said, glancing back at the notes. “The hard part of buildin’ potions is the groundwork, because everyt’ing you want it to do depends heavily on the composition. Ya could build somet’in’ wit’ the same ingredients, except the base, an’ it might grow a limb back or set someone on fire.”

Atano nodded slowly. “So you’ve found the starting point?”

“I believe so, yes-- It’d, ah--”

The Troll stammered and gulped, glancing back at the larger man. Atano raised a brow. Ye’tka held out a few empty jars and their lids.

“It’d be best if I could have a bit of ya to work with, mon.”

The brow stayed raised. “What specifically?”

“About a quarter to half of blood, a few patches of fur, a tiny bit scraped from ya horns, and, ah--” The Troll cleared his throat, face colored purple now with a blush. “Well, if ya want to be her lover, an’ all…”

Atano remained motionless. Behind him, he could feel Koree watching. He knew she could feel his thoughts. He knew she was enjoying this far too much.

He nodded quietly, whistling once for the bird. It squawked and trotted over, and he nodded at Ye’tka. It blinked then ruffled its feathers out, trying to be imposing. The sight itself was enough to make the Troll chuckle, but the sharpness of its beak and claws made his smile fade rapidly.

Atano took the empty jars and disappeared into the house.

Ye’tka glanced at Koree, who burst into silent peals of laughter as soon as her lover exited sight. He grinned sheepishly--it wasn’t his intention to do anything but get the potion ready. He went back to work outlining the process, and the more he thought about it, the more it fell into place.

The ultimate goal of the potion wasn’t too difficult; transmuting body matter into the same kind of encoded matter the disc had. It wasn’t quite turning someone into a living ghost--it was more combining the body and the spirit and shifting consciousness to not be reliant on the physical form--almost like a vision quest that he wouldn’t wake from. It was the permanence that was the difficult part--the rest would be actually quite simple to figure out. But, with Atano’s ingredients, Ye’tka could find something that would bind with them and then the Tauren would be very, very much not his problem.

Besides, he would essentially create a doorway to a new realm of life, and that was a goal alchemists barely dreamed of!

He mapped out all he could, and grabbed the necessary things from the shelves. He would have to be careful; his supplies were starting to run low. He was expecting another shipment soon, but he had not expected Rhea’s requests, nor how much they would drain his resources.

Atano came back, breathing heavily, fur slightly unkempt, with the four jars full and covered. He handed them over quietly, and Ye’tka noted a bit of cloth wrapped around one arm, dabbled slightly with blood, and patches of fur around it missing. There wasn’t a noticeable difference in his horns, but there were long, dark shavings that looked quite painful in the jar. The last--

Atano looked very defensive, and Ye’tka moved over to a basin of water, motioning the Tauren to follow. Atano did, and Ye’tka murmured a few words, the water springing up at his command, flowing over the wounds and soothing them, healing them, then over the Tauren’s large hands. Atano murmured thanks almost inaudibly, washing off. He was, as Ye’tka thought to himself, quite the broad man.

Atano moved back, and Ye’tka went back to work. There was more than enough here, and there wasn’t anything more to do except start experimenting--

_YE’TKA!_

Umboru suddenly shouted in his ear. Ye’tka winced, and Atano glanced back, hand moving to his rifle. Ye’tka looked to the elder Troll’s spirit, gray and translucent, but full-formed.

“What is it, Grandfather?” he said softly. Considering the silence of the spirits until then, Ye’tka felt a wave of dread move through him.

_There’s a party coming. They’ll be here soon._

Ye’tka frowned. “Travelers?”

_No. Janako is out there now, looking them over. Your Aunt Malai spotted them first._

Janako sped swifly into the room, visible only to Ye’tka. Atano was tense, seeing the Troll seemingly muttering to himself and turning to beings unseen, but Koree soothed him. His plainstrider shivered, feeling the ghosts.

Janako was, for once, panicked. _Ye’tka, child. We must all leave quickly._

Ye’tka frowned. “I do not doubt your words, Uncle, but tell me why, as I pack--”

_THERE IS NO TIME TO PACK!_

Ye’tka winced.

_These things are replaceable--your life is not. Do as I say, boy!_

Ye’tka nodded hurriedly and threw things hastily into a satchel. Atano’s ingredients, his notes, what reagents he’d pulled--

The Tauren’s large hand came down on the table, and Ye’tka flinched. The large man stood behind him, breath hot against his neck.

“What’s going on, shaman?”

Ye’tka gulped. “Dere’s people coming. People we need ta not meet.”

Atano moved back slightly, then glanced at the doorway.

_He knows them._

Ye’tka frowned. “You know them, don’t’cha?”

Atano nodded once. “Cultists.”

Ye’tka shuddered to himself. He was an alchemist; he had dealt with squeamish substances before. What the Cultists were rumored to have done and used for their potions--it was beyond vile. They were a deadly plague--and Ye’tka did not intend to be another one of their victims.

He paused--if they were coming up, then--well, he did have his alternate route down, provided those damned Goblins hadn’t gotten them from the lowest bidder--

He grabbed a large red bag from one of the cabinets, tossing it to Atano. The Tauren caught it, surprised, and glanced up at Ye’tka, who grabbed another for himself.

“What’s this for?” Atano asked.

“It’s a--”

“I know what it is.” The Tauren threw it down coldly. “And I’m not planning on running.”

Ye’tka scrambled to pick it up and tried to dart by Atano in the doorway. Atano grabbed him, pushing him hard against the wall and pinning him there. Ye’tka let out a hard wheeze as his breath left him, then gulped, at the mercy of the unmerciful hunter.

Atano’s eyes were cold. “We run when I say we run. And that won’t happen, Troll. We’re going to kill every one of those Twilight scum.”

Ye’tka gulped and nodded slowly. He wasn’t much of a fighter, but in dire straits, he was proficient enough.

Atano let go of him, and he gasped for breath. The large hunter moved out the door, double-checking that his rifle was loaded, and waited quietly on the porch. Ye’tka slowly followed, his ancestors yelling for him to leave--but he knew the marksman would plug him in the back if he tried to run.

Helpless, he waited, and did not have to wait long.

The first guard crested the hill confidently, black and purple robes covering their face--and reeled back, out of sight, as Atano fired a bullet through their head. There was a yelp of surprise from below, and Ye’tka covered his ears too late, the gunshot ringing in his mind and echoing through the desert. Quick footsteps were heard, and then settled--the guards were ready for them.

“I shall take it you’re still here, Atano Tantoren?” a male voice called out, rich and smooth. It was the kind a snake had, seducing you into letting it devour you. Ye’tka thought that what little he heard over the ringing sounded very much like the dialect Kaskaeld had.

“Aye,” Atano called back, rifle still raised.

Broderick chuckled to himself. Lethrena lay flat on her belly with him on the dirty hillside. The guards surrounded them, cautious. The blood of Tagor, the Draenei that had died, was pooling the other direction and starting to run down the hillside.

Broderick looked around the hill. This was the only path up there--and the only path down. Worse to worse, they would wait it out until nightfall and rush him.

“I don’t suppose you want to give yourself up, hunter? It’ll be a quick death, at least.”

“I’ll give up fighting you when your corpses lie at my feet. Unlike your fetid sense of morality, I don’t particularly enjoy disgracing the dead.”

Broderick smirked. Lethrena glanced at him. He motioned the guards behind him come up, and he pulled one of them, a Blood Elf man, up closest by his arm. Blood Elves were such an intriguing race--proud, lustful for power, always trying to save face. They reminded Broderick of the Gilnean Lords, only far prettier.

“Lady Azalia mentioned you were a proficient fire mage, Cieron?”

Cieron nodded, soft lips expanding to a smirk along his orange features.

“Good.” Broderick glanced at another of their party--Baras, a Tauren with a shield covering almost all of his back. “Cover him as best you can. Cieron, aim for the Tauren’s gun. Try and explode it in his hands, if possible. Otherwise, draw his fire--Regis, advance on them, and the rest of you flank out and pull them in.”

Regis, a Dwarven lad with a cruel scar covering one eye, grinned darkly and nodded. Everyone shifted about, and Baras pulled the huge shield off his back.

Broderick glanced at Lethrena. She looked cautiously at the troops around them. One hand was on her belly. He smiled to himself.

“Baras!”

Baras heaved the shield up, and Atano raised a brow, looking for anyone peeking out from behind what he could describe as a large metal table. His eye twtiched, and he held the gun steady--

A hand came up from behind the shield--

He aimed--

Fired--!

There was a scream in the air, and the hand disappeared, but something still stayed in the air, advancing--

Atano’s eyes widened, too late registering the fireball coming towards him. It hit his gun, and the metal seared up in his hands, causing him to toss it forward-- the fire reached the remaining gunpowder in it--

There was an explosion and a yell of pain almost immediately after Cieron had fallen to his knees behind the shield, holding the bloody remains of his hand. Broderick practically purred--it had gone so well. Get rid of the fire mage’s abilities, and destroy his enemy’s weapon, all at once! Regis barked an order, and the guards charged.

Atano fell back, cradling his right arm close. The explosion had seared his fur and blown off most of his right hand. Koree dashed to him, putting hers over the gory stump, immediately numbing the pain. He gasped hard, head throbbing, registering slowly that the cultists were charging, that his bird was panicking, that there was an odd sensation of warmth flowing where his hand used to be--  
He looked down, and Koree removed her hands, showing him no blood, no fragmented sinew and bone, but his hand back. He blinked, and the fingers stretched. He looked at her. She looked frightened--and drawn thin. She was yelling something.

Ye’tka grabbed his hand and pulled.

Atano came back to his senses running at a full sprint. The Troll was running for his life and had a death-grip on Atano’s new hand. The plainstrider was wailing in fright, running alongside its master--straight for the edge of the cliff.

Atano’s eyes widened. He grabbed the plainstrider, pulling it up into his arms. It flailed uselessly and cried to be spared death--

Behind him, the cultists roared, sending arrows and frostfire his way. There was a sharp pain in his leg--then it was gone, and Koree looked faint.

Ye’tka jumped.

Atano propelled himself off the cliff, and almost vomited. Time slowed--the ground beneath them, so far down, without ledges, without anything to break their fall, not even a pool in the desert--

Ye’tka haphazardly threw one of the red bags to Atano, and the Tauren let go of his hand to grab it. They fell faster-- faster-- but if they were too early, they’d be easy-- targets--

Ye’tka unclasped the front of his bag, and it unfurled out into a well-constructed Goblin Glider. Atano did the same, hissing as the inertia dragged him down. He finally slowed, and they sailed across the desert land, dunes and hills and valleys rushing under them. His pet whimpered and squirmed, and he finally soothed it.

Behind them, Broderick came up to the edge of the cliff. Baras was attempting to calm Cieron, who was writhing and clutching his hand. Aayani, their healer, was doing all she could, but it would not be enough.

He narrowed his eyes, looking at the retreating red triangles--then, far beyond, at the camp they were headed in the direction of. An archaeology camp. Dwarven.

He smiled coldly to himself. They were going to get a visit from the Twilight.

 

They touched down not far from the camp. Atano hit the ground first, jogging then finally coming to a rest. He set down his plainstrider, and the bird shivered and sat down. Koree behind him shivered and drew her arms in against her chest.

Atano went to her, and she moved back slightly.

“Don’t. Contact will drain my reserves further, Atano.”

He stopped where he was. For the first time since he had come home and found his tribe burnt down, Koree saw fear on his face.

Ye’tka landed a few yards ahead and stumbled, falling down to his hands and knees. Atano glanced back his way, moving over to the Troll quickly.

“Are you all right?”

Ye’tka heaved, but nothing came out. He shuddered and finally relaxed. “Hadn’t done dat before,” he mumbled. “Thank the Spirits those Gliders weren’t low quality.”

Atano glanced around. The Gliders had drifted away into the wind. They were one-use-only, so it didn’t matter much to him. He knelt down, putting a large hand on the other male’s back, petting it slowly, unsure how else to comfort him.

“OY!”

Ye’tka and Atano glanced up.

From the Dwarven camp, a party of cautious archaeologists and guards had come to greet them. Durdin led the way, and cleared his throat.

“You lads have fun cliff-divin’ regularly, or was this nae in yer plans today--Ye’tka?”

Ye’tka smiled weakly. Atano stood, helping the Troll to his feet. The Troll was still shivering, and gripped Atano’s arm fiercely.

“Wasn’ in my plan for the day, Durdy.”

Durdin huffed. “Damn ye! Why must ye call me that--?” The crowd around snickered, and he yelled belligerent things at them.

From the crowd, a small voice said: “Is the Tauren a friend, now?”

The Dwarves parted, and the haggard face of Dr. Hieronymus Blam looked out cautiously. Atano blinked, then nodded slowly.

“Ye’tka?”

Dr. Blam and the Dwarves turned to him. The Troll was still shaken, but he nodded vigorously.

“He’s a friend.”

Atano blinked, watching him, helping ease him into walking. A friend. They made their way back to camp.

He’d not been a friend in a very long time.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhea and Kas's last chance to find what they're looking for...

Kas and Rhea had not needed to search hard for the digsite entrance. In the middle of the desert, amidst the sand and rock, a sudden valley burrowed down into the earth. At the end, in utter darkness and the cool reprieve of shade, the remains of two strong pillars beckoned them down, and between those two was a doorway into almost pitch black. There’d be light down there, but in the sunlight, it looked like a descent into death itself.

Kas had carried their traveling sacks, quiet in the desert heat. Rhea had wandered along next to him, trying to remind herself that there might be something left that both archaeological teams overlooked. Somehow or other, those eggs would be purified. Even against the fury of the universe, she would be damned before her task went unfinished.

The slope down to the temple entrance was uneven, and they took it slow. There were not even wild lions around for some break in the silence--Rhea did not blame them, though. Even here, she could feel something resonating in the structure below; nothing bad, but definitely Titan in origin. Something that made her want to bow down in awe and fear.

Kas made it down first, finding the best places for them to step. She followed, and hopped down off of the last ledge of rock to the solid tile of the temple. Her eyes adjusted slightly, and she could make out a vast room inside.

Her bodyguard went in first, cautious. He tested the floor, glanced up at the ceiling--but there were no traps she could find. It was a solemn, still room. Rhea moved in behind him, looking around it. The light was dim, but somehow remained even, though she could see no other exits save the one they came in letting in sunlight. There were a few corridors snaking off, and two gigantic humanoid statues in the middle, back to back.

They held an uncanny resemblance to the statues the Dwarves had given them.

“Nice place,” Kas said, letting the egg sack down to the ground gently and rolling his shoulder. Rhea smirked up at him.

“Tired, big guy?”

He raised a brow her way with more than a hint of sass beneath his cowl. She grinned.

“You’re in a good mood, Rhea.”

She shrugged, turning back to the seemingly empty room. “I’m trying to stay optimistic. Let’s see what we can find.”

She moved up to the statues. Kas followed, letting the egg sack remain where they were. They weren’t too far away, but nor were they in any danger, even if something ridiculous happened like the statues falling over to crush them. Who know what this damned cosmos would throw at us next, Rhea thought.

There was one Jade statue and one Howlite one. Kas and Rhea examined both from the waist down first, but found nothing. The statues were easily twice Kas’s height--knowing Titans, wanting to be annoying, the smaller keys probably fit into their heads, or something.

“You wanna try climbing up them, Kas, or hoisting me up?”

“Might be easier to hoist you up, Rhea.” He brushed his dusty gloves off. “That way I’m not impaling their chests to climb.”

She nodded. Kas knelt down at the base of the Jade one first, cupping his hands for her. She eased her foot onto them gingerly, but seeing no change in his expression, put all her weight down. He didn’t seem to mind it at all.

She put her hands up against his shoulder, steadying herself, and he lifted her up, slow and careful. Kas kept his eyes up, intently watching her, keeping her balanced, raising her up, up, above his head--

“Kas?”

“Yes?”

She hadn’t straightened fully yet, not committing to standing up fully. “For the purposes of you not losing your focus, would you mind shutting your eyes?”

He blinked, then shut his eyes.

She straightened herself up--and Kas realized, face turned up, he was directly under the end of her robe. He balked, but firmly kept himself still, not wanting her to fall. She clambered onto the statue, and he let his hand drop down again.

“You can open ‘em.”

He did, looking up at her. She had an almost frighteningly impish smirk.

“I wouldn’t actually _mind_ , Kas, but I want to not crack my head falling.”

He blushed furiously and she laughed and scampered away up the statue’s shoulder. Kas followed her around, but her smile faded rapidly and she sighed.

“Nothing up here. I heavily doubt there’d be anything on the other one. Catch me?”

He held his arms out. She jumped down and he caught her close, sinking his weight so it wasn’t too hard. He knelt down, letting her catch her footing before moving back.

Her grin widened. “Never said you could let go yet.”

He was blushing so hard she thought he’d pass out. “You’re actually starting to scare me, Rhea.”

She laughed. “Oh, you mortal races are so much fun! I’m just teasing, Kas.” She poked him, grin relaxing into an extremely sweet gaze. He shuffled on his feet, looking away.

“C’mon, let’s see where those corridors go, if nothing else.”

She turned, walking off towards them. Kas caught up, egg sack slung over his shoulder again. Rhea paused a moment to let him come up next to her, then slipped her hand into his and squeezed. He glanced down, shy again.

“Not trying to tease or anything,” she murmured. “I’m just really glad you stayed around.”

He remained quiet, but his hand squeezed her back. She could feel a small tremble in his arm, then his thumb caressed the back of her hand. She blushed harder than she thought she would, realizing how much she’d missed a gentle touch of affection.

They rounded the corner of the corridor, still hand-in-hand. The thought to pull him close into passion whisked through Rhea’s mind, stamped out when they came upon a large thin slab on the ground emanating magic.

She moved forward to investigate, and Kas let her go, carefully setting down the eggs again. There was something hidden on the slab--nothing alive, but whatever it was would be worth seeing if it’d been hidden away like this. She murmured a word of power that echoed through the room, and the illusion fell away.

The slab had seven other Jade statues on it facing outwards--with one space in the middle for theirs.

Rhea looked up at Kas with a huge smile, anticipating. Kas took out the Jade statuette from its place in an extra traveling bag they’d brought, and laid it down in place. There was a loud CLICK! and then… nothing. Well, almost nothing--

The statuettes all began to move. Simple breaths, but they moved up and down, dropping into a guarding position, waiting. Kas raised a brow, and looked over at Rhea. She started to speak, but was interrupted by a smooth voice, seeming to talk directly into their minds:

“A true warden does not face OUTWARD, searching for signs of danger.

“A true warden keeps their gaze INWARD, always focused on protecting their quarry.”

The voice died away, and Rhea cleared her throat. “Titans,” she said. “Always so dramatic about things.”

Kas eased up, tense from the invasion into his mind. He reached forward, cautiously touching one of the small statues. They were cool to the touch--nothing that would bite. He pressed against one, trying to turn it--but even with all his strength, it would not budge. He stopped, growling softly.

“Titans have a gift for being annoying--” Rhea moved around the slab and frowned. “And also for hiding things in plain view. This can’t be impossible.”

Kas moved back slightly, watching her. She crossed her arms, watching the statues for a long moment, then snapped her fingers, moving up to one and pushing it back towards the center.

It moved at once into the center slot, still facing the way it had been. Where it was, there was an empty space on the slab.

She sighed. “I outgrew this puzzles so long ago…”

She moved along the slab with quiet grace, pushing the idols to and fro. Kas moved back, letting her dance along, watching her quietly. Something stirred and rested again in him, and he pulled his cowl up higher.

In very little time, the last one clicked into place facing inward, with Rhea in the center--

There was a loud shifting noise from the central chamber, and the statues all fell back simultaneously. The others shattered, but the original key stayed intact, just a lump of Jade again. Rhea cautiously picked it back up, taking it back to Kas.

“That was an interesting sound…”

He nodded in agreement, taking the Jade and placing it back in the bag.

“Stay behind me.”

He moved back down the corridor swiftly, unsheathing one of his daggers. Rhea followed, taking the eggs. He stopped at the end of the hall, peering outward past the edge--

Pausing…

Moving out into the chamber, Rhea say no difference. The two large statues were just as they were…

Kas narrowed his eyes, moving along slower than her, shielding her from the statues. She glanced their way again, and a shiver ran through her. There was something different about the Jade one--but she couldn’t put her finger quite on it, and they got to the other corridor easily enough.

Kas didn’t relax, but Rhea glanced up and smiled. The walls had carvings of Azerothians all along them. Peasants and knights and all manner of young mortals.

They came out upon another chamber at the other end of that corridor, much longer than the one with the slab. There was an odd little section of wall dug in at one end--and a slab at the other for the Howlite statue to fit in place.

Rhea tapped Kas’s leg, and he glanced over at it, then got out the Howlite statue and set it down with a CLICK!

The chamber crackled with energy, and Rhea started, seeing eight other statues appear out of nowhere in seemingly random spots and directions. The voice murmured again:

“The Sentinel watches.

“The Sentinel protects.

“The Sentinel’s vision never falters.”

Kas suddenly jumped back, and Rhea moved over to him quickly. “What--?”

A beam of purple light shot forth from the small Howlite statue, hitting one of the others in the room. The second statue turned purple as well and the beam shot forth the way it was looking, off into a corner of the wall.

Kas glanced at Rhea. She looked back up at him with wide eyes then grinned.

“You know what all this means, Kas?”

He shook his head.

“There _is_ something here.”

He grinned under his cowl. She purred and looked back at the puzzle, sizing it up. The beams had to connect somewhere, but where--?

She rushed to the other wall, looking at the chamber in total as best she could. As she had thought--there was another statue nestled into that odd nook in the wall. Kas followed her gaze, then looked at the statues in the room.

“Try moving the one with the beam around?” Rhea said, looking over to it.

He nodded, going over to it carefully. He paused, frowning, taking out some of their older, more hardened bread, tossing it through the beam. It landed perfectly fine on the floor below. He straightened, then darted his hand into the beam and back out quickly. Nothing. He took the bread back and got to work, not caring if the beam touched him or not.

The statues moved, but they only moved around to stay in certain angles, locking into place and not coming to rest until they were locked. Kas got one around, and suddenly two more lit up, the beam darting back and forth and all around the room. Kas moved to them, repositioning them, going on down the chain--and after a few minutes, Rhea purred to see him get the beam to connect up.

No sooner did it touch the other statue when they crumbled again, leaving only the original, and a loud rumbling noise from the main chamber.

They looked at each other.

“Nowhere else to go but back,” Rhea said softly.

They made their way cautiously back to the main chamber, Rhea again taking the eggs. Kas unsheathed both daggers this time, looking at the two statues from the doorway to the corridor. Rhea didn’t need any magic to know they were humming with a current, but they were still immobile.

“They have spaces for the statuettes to fit, now.”

Kas glanced back at her, his voice soft and majestic. She looked past him, and saw on their bellies the indentations he was talking about. They hadn’t been there before--

“Stay here,” he said gently, moving out with the statue bag. She let the eggs down, watching.

“Be careful,” she called out to him. He glanced back and smiled, then moved up to the belly of the closer one--Howlite.

He took out the statuette and put it in.

“ACTIVE.”

The huge statue sprung to life, hurling its arm down at Kas. He sprung away, and it followed after him, hands outstretched. Rhea gasped--it was being flooded with magic she’d never even dreamed of; layers upon layers of enchantments, rich and beautiful and--

\--and deadly--

She narrowed her eyes and murmured something, and the strands of magic became visible, criss-crossing the giant and stopping at key intervals where the chakras would be.

“KAS! HIT IT AT THE OVERLAPS!”

Kas darted out of the way of another crushing blow, and dug his fist deep into its lower belly where the first point was. It jerked back, stuttering to move forward again--

He hit the second, in its solar plexus.

It reared back, crashing onto its backside and trying to stop itself from falling back fully--

He smashed his fist square into its third eye.

It fell back motionless to the ground, deactivated. Rhea smiled brightly. “You did it--!”

Kas sheathed his daggers and hissed, waving his arms. She blinked.

“God-- DAMMIT! Fucking OW!”

Rhea stayed in place, a bit taken-aback, realizing that she had indeed told him to punch solid rock. And he had to do it again…

He hissed and rubbed his knuckles, wincing and sighing.

“Kas?..”

 He glanced over at her. “Yes, Rhea?”

“I’m really quite sorry, but there’s another one, there, to do…”

He sighed and looked over at it, still rubbing his hands. “I know. I’m thinking of using my palms on it instead.”

“Whatever works best, Kas..”

“Yep.” He hissed again. “Dammit that fucking hurts…”

He moved over to the Jade statue, taking a breath. He pushed the statuette into place--

“ONLINE--”

He smashed his open hand into the first two spots in rapid succession. The statue stumbled back and teetered, dropping down to its knees. It made a weak attempt to hit Kas before he smashed his palm into its head, sending it reeling back hard and crashing to the ground. It died down again. He let out a long breath, rolling his wrists.

“Kas!”

Rhea rushed over to something at the other end of the chamber. He frowned and moved over quickly--

A huge ornamental chest had appeared.

“This has to be it--” Rhea reached for the lid, excited--

Kas grabbed her arm.

She glanced back up at him, frowning, tensing for a fight if he was a double-agent after all!-- but he got out a dagger, testing the lid for any traps, moving it slightly. Nothing. He let her go.

“Good call.” She blushed at her excitement, straightening her robes, pushing the lid back and peering inside.

Inside, resting on a cushion, there was a small circular device. It was dormant, but she could feel it radiating power.

“This is it…”

She carefully pulled it out, holding it out, face slowly brightening into a smile.

“Kas-- Kas, this is it! This is what we need!”

She looked up at him with a huge grin, undeniably beautiful. He smiled back, holding out an empty traveling back. She got the pillow too, stuffing it in, making sure it was protected and positioned so that nothing would break it.

Kas moved over, grabbing the eggs again to hoist up--

“Kas?”

He glanced over at her again. She had a thoughtful look on her face.

"Would you mind kneeling, or something? Just so we’re closer to the same level.” He blinked then knelt down.

She moved over to him and hugged him tight.

He blinked again in surprise, then hugged back. She was warm, and soft, and strong.

“Thank you for helping me.”

“Of course,” he murmured.

“Kas?”

She moved back slightly. He let his hands fall to rest absentmindedly on her hips. She started to say something, then stopped and frowned slightly.

“What?”

Her hands moved to his face, and she unwrapped the cowl from around his head. He tensed--he hadn’t willingly let someone do that, before.

“There...” she said, smiling and looking him over. He had so many lines on his face--battle scars, old worries. His orange-red hair was tangled and thick; a mess in the desert heat, oily in some parts and dry in others. His beard was unkempt around his lips, and his brown eyes watched her close. She smiled to herself, brushed his beard into a more manageable state.

“Rhea?”

She glanced back into his gaze, pausing. He was curious what she was doing--what she was thinking. She was, herself.

“When this is all over, Mr. Kaskaeld Remor, I had a thought.”

He raised a brow.

“I was thinking, if you wanted, once you tell your brethren about the plague details, that I might keep you around.” She put a hand softly against his cheek. “I think we make a rather good pairing, don’t you?”

He blushed, then nodded slowly.

“Is that a yes to ‘we make a good pair,’ or to staying with me, Kas?”

“Both,” he murmured softly.

She moved in closer again, putting her face against his. He was warm, and his breath was coming faster. They both had so many scars to heal.

“Rhea…”

“Kas.”

She glanced into his eyes. They were softer, softer, shut. He pulled her in tight.

She shut her eyes in a bliss of warmth and smiled, pressing her lips to his.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three paths converge, and it all goes to Hell.

“BLIMEY!”

Kas and Rhea had made it back to camp in record time from the dig. Kas had covered his face again; his armor had been cleaned outside Angor fortress; the Titan relic Rhea needed was neatly tucked away from prying eyes. Rhea had more than a little spring in her step.

They had presented the tablets of Golganneth to Durdin back at camp, and the Dwarves were all abuzz. Rhea was hailed as a Goddess in their eyes--except Sigrun, who was too deep in the cups to know which way was up--and finally she had to pull herself away to get back to Kas.

“C’mon; we need to go.”

“Oh?” he said, standing again. “Where to?”

“Hiero--he knows all about Titan things.” She lowered her voice to barely a whisper. “I want him to see about this orb we found… activating it, using it. It should be a guardian of sorts--and its rays should purify corruption. If we could even dissect it and see what components it uses in that beam--”

She trailed off, eyes widening as she looked past him at the tents. Kas frowned, looking on with her--then growled low.

Ye’tka was sitting huddled up with a blanket over him clutching--Atano Tantoren, an arm around him, trying to comfort him.

“Still shaken from the fall, poor fellow.”

Rhea and Kas turned around, and came face to face with Dr. Blam, wiping his hands off on his pants. He grinned brightly.

“Hello you two. I was hoping there was tea but I gather there’s not, sadly, just alcohols.”

“Hiero…” Rhea smiled, but it was dampened with heavy concern. “What’s happened? Why are you here?”

He paused, and his typical grin faded. “Twilight.”

Kas growled softly. Rhea looked up at him.

“You don’t think…” she started, then looked away, musing to herself. “They followed us?..”

“No,” Dr. Blam said nonchalantly. “I think they followed the guy that was following you. He seems to have angered them royally, or something to that effect.”

Kas moved away slowly. Rhea didn’t notice until it was too late: he advanced, carefully unsheathing the daggers--

Koree gasped, and Atano glanced around far too late, being pulled back hard out of his seat and leaning back on his knees with a blade pressed at his throat. Kas held him, ready, and from there, the Tauren’s only real option might be to elbow him--which he was ready for. He’d break the bull’s arms if he tried that. Both the plainstrider and Ye’tka exclaimed angrily, ready to spring into action--

Atano held up a hand calmly, settling his pet. The Troll was still tense, but Atano smiled politely, easing him back down to sit. The camp had gone silent. Rhea gulped--she could stop this… but the bull was a threat. Kas wouldn’t kill him outright; if he hadn’t by now, he wanted to know the bull’s reason for being here. She did too.

“I’m not here for you, Kaskaeld,” Atano said in his soft, smooth voice. It was the dangerous one--but somehow, it had lost some of it’s edge. “Don’t be that egotistical.”

Kas tightened his hold, and the blade dug in. Atano winced then sighed.

“You’re far from the highest name on my list, Mr. Remor. I was told about Miss Rhea’s mission, out here; I’m not going to interfere with that. After it’s done, you’re fair game, but until then, I can appreciate the quest to end corruption. I’m not too big a fan of it, or these nihilistic genocidal types myself.”

The blade tightened further, and Atano hissed.

“Interesting then,” Kas murmured, “that you’re working to get back a plague formula that will wipe out more of my race.”

Atano said nothing.

“Let him go, mon,” Ye’tka said, a slow tremble in his voice. Fury, Rhea thought--or fear?

“Hiero,” she murmured, “what happened?”

“Best I can tell, Rhea, Atano there was following you, got up to Ye’tka and was cornered by Twilight following  _ him _ , and instead of being able to fight their way down, Ye’tka had some kind of parachute things made by those nasty Goblin--ah, those Goblin folk--no, those nasty folk! You’re not a Goblin, I keep forgetting.”

She smirked, but it faded quickly. “They jumped off of the hill?”

“Uh huh.”

“No wonder he’s shaken up…”

“I said LET HIM GO!” Fire and electricity crackled along the Troll’s hands. The Dwarves shifted uneasily. Rhea’s jaw tightened, and she stepped forward to them.

“Ye’tka!”

The Troll turned, pausing at seeing her. She raised a cold, regal brow.

“Enough.”

“But--”

“ _ Enough _ .”

He gulped and the crackling subsided. Rhea turned to Kas and Atano.

“Let him go. Kill him if he tries to attack either of us.”

Kas let the Tauren go, and Atano caught himself before falling awkwardly to the dirt. He stood up, magnificently tall, and brushed himself off. Kas’s daggers remained in-hand.

“Let’s be clear with one-another, Atano Tantoren,” Rhea said, voice hard and cold. “I trust you as far as I can throw you. That is to say, I wouldn’t trust you to catch something I threw at you, much less enough to turn my back on you. However, I am going to trust that you have enough honor left that your word means something--if for no other reason than I trust Ye’tka’s care for you not to be misplaced.”

Atano raised a brow. Ye’tka balked, and his face dipped into a steep purple hue.

“That said, if you at any time show me that you aren’t being sincere--if you jeopardize my mission here--you’d better pray it’s Kas and his daggers that get to you before me. Do I make myself clear?”

He bowed his head, nodding. Kas moved back to Rhea’s side, sheathing the blades, glaring at the Tauren. Rhea turned.

“Durdin?”

The Dwarf came running at her call, gulping. “Yes, ma’am?”

“I assume you’re already on alert about the potential incoming Twilight Cultists?”

“Yes, ma’am! We’re ready to tackle ‘em.”

Rhea turned back, looking at Ye’tka. “How many were there?”

“Fifteen or so, Rhea, though one died, and another’s hand got blown off…” He shifted awkwardly on his feet under her steel gaze. She nodded, looking around camp.

“Kas,” she continued, “I want you on the lookout wherever’s easiest--”

She paused, looking up at him. He wasn’t paying attention to her--but looking down the way at the Dwarven guards towards the northern entrance.

Ye’tka frowned. “They’ll be comin’ from the south, mon.”

Kas said nothing. The guard’s backs were to them, ready for anything coming their way...

Rhea frowned slowly. “That means everyone’s attention has been to the south, instead of to those guards…”

“And those aren’t the same ones as when we came in,” Kas said quietly. “There was a woman there; now it’s two men. And I didn’t see any changing of the guards--”

He turned back to the southern entrance and unsheathed his daggers. Their attention was turned one way, so that now--

A roar filled the camp.

Baras, the lumbering black Tauren, barreled through the Southern guards, massive seven-foot shield bashing one into the rocky cliff-side with a sickening crunch. From the other side, Regis turned and yelled, taking out his battle-ax, in the place of the female guard. The other finally toppled over, propped up by a spear that Jagal, a towering, skeletal-thin Troll now took out of it and stuck into the neck of one of the panicked Dwarven guards.

Broderick leaned back and smiled, shutting his eyes and listening to the yells, carried on the wind. They’d been careful, methodical. Now, even the Red Dragon was caught in their clutches.

Kas sprinted down the small hillside towards Baras. Behind the Tauren, other Twilight cultists charged, cruel blades in hand. The Dwarven guards were split--Durdin yelled for their gryphon to be protected at all cost, so that it could fly them out and away. One gryphon for a whole camp was nothing, but it was still an escape--

The bird screeched, getting loose from its tamer, ready to join the fight against Regis and Jagal--

The Troll’s spear flew through the air, impaling into the gryphon’s chest. It fell to the earth, spluttering and flailing as blood pooled out.

Rhea narrowed her eyes. Whether or not they could fight here and now, they shouldn’t. They were too spread out; too surprised--

“Ye’tka! To me!”

She cornered herself into the back end of the camp. Hiero darted over to her, not a fighter by nature and, even if he had been, a weaponless Gnome. She smiled, reassuring, and Ye’tka ran over as well. Rhea murmured a few words, and arcane energies sprung up around her, the beginnings of a portal out. Ye’tka frowned--he was a shaman, not a mage--but turned, speaking other words of power, crafting guardians of stone to shield the Dragoness while she concocted her spell.

Atano meanwhile sprinted towards the northern edge.

Kas jumped to one side, foot landing against the steep rocky cliff, and pushed himself off hard, smashing into Baras from the side. The Tauren’s shield was big, yes--but it cut off his vision as much as it did his enemies. The lumbering bull-man crashed into the earth, putting an arm up to guard himself instinctively, yelling in pain as a dagger intended for his throat stabbed in deep.

His comrades sprinted, aiming for the Gilnean in white, and Kas darted away, pushing the shield out of their reach as best he could. Dwarves charged, giving him cover, some holding their own but the ones directly in front of Baras being gored and thrown as the large bull recovered and charged forward, horns poised--

On the other side of camp, Atano threw himself at Jagal, breaking the Troll’s concentration before he could reclaim his spear from the injured gryphon. They slammed hard into the ground, Jagal wily, grappling, joints bending in odd ways so that it was almost impossible to get a grip--

The vicious Troll dug a punch into Atano’s side, bruising his ribs but not breaking them, and Atano threw him off, staggering to his feet. The Troll sprang up, rushing the Tauren hunter--

Atano was quicker than he thought, smashing a meaty fist into his face and breaking off one tusk at the jaw.

Jagal reared back in agony, Regis battling off two Dwarves and darting over to help--

Atano grabbed the Troll’s arm before he could get out of reach, bringing him back into a punch straight to the trachea. Jagal’s eyes went wide and blood spluttered from his mouth, and he fell to the earth, wheezing out his last breaths.

Kas darted back quickly, but Baras charged faster than that, gaining ground--

Kas jumped.

The bull’s horns tried to follow, but couldn’t quite reach as the Gilnean slammed his foot down into Baras’s spine. The Tauren stumbled and slammed chest-first into the dirt--

Kas mounted him from behind, driving a dagger into the back of his neck. The large bull shuddered then went limp. Kas turned to join the Dwarves at the Southern edge, who were outnumbered and overrun--

One had thrown their ax, he realized--

He jerked to the side in time for it to miss his heart, but the curved blade buried itself into his chest, throwing him backwards off of Baras’s corpse.

Rhea’s eyes widened, and for a fraction of a second, the portal spell almost broke. She doubled down, and the air around her whirled. Runes appeared along the ground, glowing slowly then much, much faster--

The Dwarves were failing.

There was a roar, and one human led the charge through the line. The Dwarven guards finally broke back, overrun. The human had no cowl, but there was darkness around his eyes--

Their leader.

Broderick Redmane looked over the camp in disarray. Panicked archaeologists packed, grabbing bags, bringing them over to--

A portal. One the beautiful little Dragoness was crafting. They couldn’t just leave…

“Lethrena.”

His mate appeared at his side, smiling darkly at the Goblin woman. Rhea’s eyes narrowed, and her intensity raised higher. The archaeologists got into the circle--

Kas was lying still. Crimson was pooling around him--

Atano landed a hoof into Regis’s face directly, breaking the Dwarf’s nose and forcing him back. He was about to follow with a stomp that would crush his skull--

“ATANO!”

Koree screamed for him. He turned, seeing Kas, seeing the overrun camp-- Rhea’s portal--

“Shit--”

He sprinted, grabbing Kas from the ground and heaving him over a shoulder, running for the portal--

Lethrena yelled a curse of power, sending it the way of Rhea’s portal--

Atano stepped into the edge of the portal, the curse hitting him, one that would break all magic--

The chain around his head, carrying Koree’s information disc, snapped.

He was already propelling himself into the circle, pausing, feeling it fall--

“NO!”

Rhea’s voice boomed, and the survivors teleported away. The air settled, and only dust remained, falling to the earth in slow arcs.

Broderick roared, sprinting over to the remains of the portal circle. They were gone.

He turned, seething, looking to Lethrena. She gulped, knowing he wouldn’t harm her; he wouldn’t--

Aayani their healer rushed over to Baras--dead--to Jagal--dead--to Regis, moaning; alive…

Broderick grabbed his mate’s arms. She gasped, trembling, afraid. He blinked, loosening his grip, though his fury did not subside.

“Lethrena,” he said in a low voice that their guards could not hear, “your spell hit, but it did not stop the portal. I’m not angry at you, my beautiful cub-bearer; never at you, but what the hell happened?”

She shivered and took a breath. “There must have been some great working magic on that Tauren’s person that took the blow instead; it should have been attracted to the most powerful magic there.”

Broderick raised a brow, then nodded slowly. He moved back to the circle, slow, looking it over--

There was a glint in the ground.

He knelt, brushing sand off of-- a medallion? He picked it up, standing slowly. He raised his eyes and paused, realizing what it was. What it could mean, for them…

A beautiful Tauren woman dressed in white looked at him, backed against the wall, trapped. She was afraid.

A low, sick smile crept onto his face. This was the disc for the Information Box. All of its power was now theirs.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of several recent events, reveals, and the last chance for Rhea's goal to succeed.

The rest of the day had gone to a hellish fever of events.

Rhea’s portal dropped them off far back at Fuselight. The mountain goats brayed loudly and ran, Goblins yelping as the mass of people appeared from thin air. Rhea dashed over to Atano, still holding her fallen bodyguard, blood seeping down the Tauren’s shoulder and back. Atano set the Gilnean down carefully, the ax having carved itself into the man’s right shoulder and down the breastbone. He had lost a lot of blood, and looked pale, barely drawing breath.

Heedless of anyone around her, Rhea murmured fervently what healing magic she knew. Tears formed at the edges of her eyes, and fury added its edge to her voice. Her hands glowed brilliant with gold, and the wound trying to close, but too much for her abilities. She knew many kinds of magic--but the gentle art of healing was one she did not know expertly well. She fell back against the dirt, sweat matting her hair against her green skin, exhaustion setting in.

He was still close to death.

Ye’tka knelt down beside her, taking out a small skin of water and pouring in all out over the wound. Kas emitted a slight hiss of pain--a good sign; still there, if not conscious. Ye’tka pushed his hand in against the blood, murmuring, the water seeping into the wound, cleansing it, washing away the blood and reknitting the broken, torn pieces. He brushed his hand over the whole jagged cut, and when he moved it away, Kas was smeared with blood but healed.

“Thank you,” Rhea murmured, breathing hard.

“Of course, mon. Ya need to rest, though-- both of ya.” He got up, moving over to the inn. “SAL!”

Sally Gearwell came sprinting out, blinking at the sudden Dwarves, at the Gilnean and Rhea, at Ye’tka--grinning with a blush. “Hey there, hand--”

Her grin faded to paleness as she saw Atano and his bird. She gulped. Ye’tka followed her gaze.

“He’s with us, Sal. He’s fine. Need a room for Kas an’ Rhea.”

“Kas?”

“The Gilnean man.”

“Oh! Sure, sure, c’mon… first floor, I think; not goin’ up any stairs with him…”

Ye’tka glanced at Atano. He was trembling, looking out at the desert below. His large paws were cupped tight in fury. Ye’tka gulped, then moved over to Kas, carefully lifting him up himself, moving back into the inn and taking him to a secluded little room intended for lovebirds that Sally led them to. Ye’tka set him down on the bed, Rhea collapsing into a chair with their sacks. Ye’tka glanced at her then ushered Sally out of the room to leave them be.

As soon as they were gone, Rhea made a thorough check over the eggs. Two were irreparably damaged, the small bodies of the black whelplings within half-exposed. They were dead, not having hatched on their own. They were still corrupted.

There was one left, bruised but not broken open somehow. The whelpling inside was probably just the same as its kin, but it still had a chance, if that Titan relic could… if it could…

Rhea set the sack down gently, putting her head in her hands, body shaking as the weight and stress finally broke through. She did not know how long she wept, but when she had nothing more to get out, she got up, made a cursory check that the Titan relic was still safe--it was--and quietly got into bed with her bodyguard.

He was stable, breathing a bit too soft, but slow and peaceful. She made sure she was on his left side, so that she wouldn’t disturb his wounds, then moved his arm around her and snuggled against his chest, trembling and resting a hand over his wound.

 

Ye’tka bid a slight farewell to Sally, leaving her with her boy-toy, Fritz, to fawn all over her, making his way outside. The Dwarves, shaken as they were, were settling into the inn quite nicely, with copious amounts of alcohol.

Atano was still outside.

Ye’tka moved over to him shyly. The plainstrider had curled up in the shade of a building and fallen into a nap. Atano was still trembling with fury.

“Ya okay, mon?” Ye’tka said meekly.

Atano glanced over his shoulder at him, eyes seething and narrow--and glistening with tears. Ye’tka blinked in surprise, moving closer. The Tauren looked away again.

“She’s gone,” he said, voice shaking more than he’d want it to. “The last spell that hit me instead of Rhea’s portal. It tore the chain away. She’s gone.”

Ye’tka blinked again, then moved over to stand next to him. “We can get her back,” he said softly.

“She’s in the clutches of those Twilight bastards.” Atano practically spat the words out. They’re not going to give her up easily. They have camps all over the whole fucking world. Those aren’t good odds.”

Ye’tka looked down, nodding softly. He couldn’t said something to dissuade Atano, but the Tauren was right. They were bad odds.

“Then we cut ‘em all down,” the Troll finally said. “Until we find her.”

Atano glanced at him. “You have no reason to help me.”

Ye’tka shrugged. “Not really, no..”

“You should’ve left me to die on top of your hill. Any sane person would’ve.”

Ye’tka glanced at him. “I’m not that cold, mon. I don’t like being threatened, but I like the idea of you bein’ slaughtered and dissected less. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

“It still doesn’t explain why you want to help me now.”

Ye’tka felt his face get hot. “If you want me to leave you alone, I will!” He turned, storming away, only realizing afterwards that two lines of tears had wet his cheeks.

<*>                    <*>                    <*>

Nighttime fell across the desert. The Dwarves, after vehemently refusing to be teleported “approximately to Ironforge” by Fritz were finally, after being shown proof it wouldn’t kill them, were teleported to Ironforge. Ye’tka waited quietly in the inn, waiting for Rhea to come out of her daze, going to help her. Whether Atano stayed or left… who cared?

The Tauren came in, looking around, then made a straight line for Ye’tka’s table. Perfect. Ye’tka drained the mug he was currently on.

Atano paused, rather awkwardly, by the table. “May I sit?”

Ye’tka didn’t look at him. “It’s a free world.”

Atano cleared his throat, sitting down opposite the Troll. Ye’tka looked out at the rather empty bar.

“Don’t want me here?” the Tauren said, raising a brow.

“What gave you that idea, mon?”

Atano looked down. “There was an Ogre camp outside here. Rather close. I went and scared them off.” He glanced at Ye’tka then sighed. “I should’ve come in sooner. Listen--I would… I would appreciate any help you’d give, Ye’tka… I’m sorry it didn’t--exactly… sound like that. I’m not-- I’m not used to…”

“To civility?” Ye’tka turned a cold gaze on him. “Compassion?”

Atano paused, then looked down again. “Yes.”

Ye’tka watched him coldly then took a deep breath, letting it out as a long, angry sigh. “All right. Thank ya for apologizin’.”

Atano nodded, glancing up at him. “Ye’tka?”

“ _What?_ ”

The word had some bite to it, and Atano winced.

“If you don’t… mind… I-- I really, I mean, I understand why, but--”

“Why did I save you?” Ye’tka looked at him again. Atano gulped. The Troll’s gaze was viciously piercing when he wanted it to be. “Because you’re cute and I’m stupid, mon.”

He sunk back bitterly into his chair, face coloring deeper. Atano blinked, starting to blush too, looking away. Rhea came out of her room into the inn, looking around and seeing Ye’tka, waving at him.

The Troll quickly stood and moved to her, leaving Atano alone. He started to get up and follow, but, seeing the Dragoness’s apprehension, slowly sat back down. Her paranoia was deserved, after all. He couldn’t blame her--besides, he had other things to think about now.

Ye’tka followed her quickly back to the room. Kas was awake, though she had expressly forbid him from sitting up. The covers were drawn up, and the top half of his armor was hung over the back of a chair, drying after she had mended it as best she could and washed out the blood again. He waved a bare arm in the general direction of Ye’tka as a greeting. Ye’tka smiled slightly and nodded back.

Rhea sighed. “I’m going to go find Hiero. Wait here.”

She stepped out again. Ye’tka looked over the rogue thoughtfully.

“She really likes ya, huh?”

“I think so,” he mumbled. A small smile tried to form against his tired face. “M’very lucky.”

Ye’tka watched him a long moment then smiled. “Good ansa.”

Rhea brought Dr. Blam in a few moments later. He was good-naturedly belligerent, telling her how utterly foolish the Goblin mechanics were and how his side was right and-- he paused, seeing Kas, then Ye’tka, and cleared his throat.

“Nice ta see some things nevah change, mon.” Ye’tka smirked.

Hiero stuck out his tongue, then laughed.

Rhea moved over to the egg sack. “There’s only one left. The other two were broken as we got out of camp.” She moved the sack down and off of the last remaining egg--the other two moved to a separate bag she’d have to dispose of later. The room grew silent, grim. This was their last chance.

“Kas and I did find in the Titan ruins to the south of camp an object that I think might be a deactivated Sentinel. One of the orbs they would use to scan areas and purify minor corruption. On a scale of one egg to Old Gods, I think this might be able to handle it, if we can turn it on.”

“Our long shot paid off,” Ye’tka murmured.

Hiero blinked. “Just one tiny device for a whole wonderful process of decontamination? I never did understand those Titans… Very well!” He cracked his knuckles and grinned. “Let’s see what this peeper can do, hm? Where is it?”

Rhea pulled it out of the other sack it was in. Hiero “oooooh”ed and Ye’tka took a sharp breath, feeling its dormant power. It sat in her hands… and sat… and sat.

Hiero glanced up at her. “There an on-switch, dear?”

Ye’tka breathed in sharply, looking around. The spirits around him were aflutter, and they reached back into the dark expanse of ancestry and knowledge, pulling in the details they needed. His voice was odd as he repeated their words, listening intently to the murmurs around him.

“Activation-- Code-- Probe 019-- 27-- X-5319-- Class C-- Rank-- 19, Override 339, Authorization-- 5452.”

A brilliant gold light burst forth from the orb, and Rhea winced, shutting her eyes and almost dropping it. She gasped, feeling it leave her hand, then the light faded slightly in the room--

“My word!” Hiero said softly. “It’s flying!”

The orb was indeed: it levitated up above them, moving up, up, bonking slightly into the ceiling then descending lower to be at face-height with Ye’tka. A soft male voice, smooth and rich, filled the room. Ye’tka blushed lightly, pushing away the thought that it sounded Tauren in nature.

“Boot-up protocol completed. Scanning for objective…”

A brilliant geometry of lines criss-crossing gold over the orb appeared, connecting at points of white light. They rolled around the orb as it moved through the air around the room, hitting against the edges, finally centering against the one remaining egg, hovering over it and dancing slowly then quickly, circling it faster and faster--

“Anomaly detected. Probable source: Azerothian Old God. Strand 56462359 shifted down 0.687924. Attempting to excise anomaly--”

It whirled faster around the egg. Rhea pulled out her notes, furiously copying down what it had said. It suddenly stopped, moving up above the very center of the egg.

“Anomaly excised. Re-assembling remaining material.”

It paused, then blinked once-- twice--

A brilliant golden light, warm and pure, shot down out of it and covered the egg. They could see inside a shadow, forming, reforming, growing smoothing into that of a whelpling, curled up, ready for the world now. Purified.

The light faded. The egg was a beautiful fluctuation of grays and blacks, spotted and spined and healthy.

"Viable subject compiled. No anomalies detected.”

Rhea put her hands over her mouth, stifling a high-pitched sound. Her body trembled hard, and joy welled up in her eyes. It was over. She had done it.

“User-objective protocol completed. Ready for new--”

The voice suddenly cut off. Rhea paused, looking up at it. Her smile faded slightly.

“New corruption detected. Waygate: 15824. Corruption status: Emergency. Immediate Threat. Program 3 start-up. Secure and eliminate corruption at Emergency levels.”

The orb suddenly shot up, breaking through the ceiling and the floor above, and the sharp sound of wind whirled by as it sped across the dark desert night.

“Oh no--” Rhea said, voice raising. “We have to get that back-- It might take years to reverse-engineer the cleansing process, even knowing now where to target it-- we have to get that back!”

“We need to find the Waygate, then.”

Everyone turned to Kas. He watched them all tiredly.

“That’s where it’ll be. Ye’tka, ask… ancestors, hm? They might know. Otherwise, we have access to a very determined, very knowledgeable hunter, don’t we?”

Rhea blinked, then glanced at Ye’tka and Hiero and back to Kas. “You’re not suggesting trusting him?”

“No. But if he’s a resource, let’s use him.”

She looked at her bodyguard a long, silent moment, then nodded. “Okay.”

They all turned back to the egg. The inn was in a panic, thinking they were under attack, and the couple the floor above them was shaking off fright and starting to get back to each other.

“Rhea?”

Kas murmured her name, and she turned to him.

“It’s pure?”

She smiled softly, nodding.

He smiled back weakly. “Good. Sorry I’m a mess right now, or I’d buy you a drink.”

She laughed and moved over to him, putting a hand on his cheek. “Rest up, and I’ll hold you to that drink later.”

“Okay.” His smile widened, and his eyes drooped.

Not caring that Hiero and Ye’tka saw, she leaned in and kissed him for the second time. He kissed back, but when she pulled away, he had fallen into another deep slumber.

 


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Koree finds herself in a bad predicament, and Kas’s last battle in Gilneas is explored...

The Twilight made camp in the remains of the Dwarven one. The dead were torn apart and broken down to what might be useful, but Cieron was unable to cast anything close to a fireball, much less open portals back to Azalia’s base. Broderick smiled a cruel dark smile; the mage’s destruction had gone so much better than he’d hoped.

Baras had died, as had Jagal, and while Broderick did not mourn the Troll’s death--the rogue had always had a sneer to him that Broderick had hated--Baras was a sad side effect of his plans. The bull was on the older side; he’d trained many of the new Cultists, and was the first to throw himself into battle. If there was any kind of honor among the Twilight, Baras had been the prime example of such a thing.

Aayani had cauterized Cieron’s stump before the attack and was now changing his bandages. It was truly a pity she had to die--she was quite sweet, all things considered. Service with a smile. At least she did her best to dull the pain while she worked; he knew of some healers that revelled in their victims’ agony. Some kind of mentality that it helped them embrace the end with more fervor. He thought that it was a load of bullshit, and had told a few of them that to their faces.

She laid Cieron down to rest next to Regis. A bandage was across the entirety of the Dwarf’s head. His nose was shattered inward, and any attempt at reconstructing what his face once had been would be done but a team of far more supplied healers.

Lethrena was looking around camp quietly, calculating their losses. Broderick hadn’t mentioned his new acquisition to her. The Information Box’s disc was held firmly in his palm.

His mate glanced at him. “Broderick?”

Her voice was quiet; this was for no one else to hear.

“Yes, Lethrena?”

“How are we to overcome our enemies with dwindling numbers?”

He smiled slowly. She could be trusted, he thought. If anyone could of this camp, it would be her. He motioned for her to wait a moment.

He glanced around camp, then moved to Aayani.

“Any help I can be?”

The Draenei woman glanced up then shook her head no. Her legs bent backwards, ending in petite hoofs, and she was--like all her race--blue, tall, and hornèd. The females were, unlike the males, extremely thin, giving her the grace of some exotic dancer and a desirability to many Gilneans that Broderick had never understood. Her tail swished as she went back to work.

He looked around camp. The guards were resting or going about their duties carving up bodies. He moved back to Lethrena.

He motioned with his head, and they moved inside his tent, zipping it up so as not to be disturbed.

She purred, moving closer to him and snuggling up against him, resting against his shoulder. Her voice, however, was far colder than her body was.

“You haven’t answered my question, Redmane.”

He chuckled softly and slipped his hand into hers, pressing the cold Titan disc to her flesh as well. She blinked then turned and gasped, seeing Koree’s avatar in the tent with them.

“She’s not a ghost,” Lethrena murmured, frowning. “What is she?”

“The avatar of an Information Box. A Titan relic designed to accumulate vast stores of knowledge about the world and its inhabitants. It also would know the secrets of Titan technology, plans, strategies. Locations of Waygates.” He smiled slow and dark.

Lethrena purred. “Waygates we could transform?”

“Waygates that would bring about the Masters.”

“The ‘Masters’ you two have forsaken, I see,” Koree murmured, pure face creasing into hatred.

Lethrena raised a curious brow. “She has a personality?”

Broderick chuckled softly. “I think Atano Tantoren’s expectations of her bled into the programming a bit. It would explain why its avatar still resembles an attractive Tauren woman.”

Lethrena glanced at him, smirking. “She’s attractive to you?”

He grinned back at his mate, saying nothing. Lethrena glanced back at the Tauren woman.

“If she’s a construct of enchantments, then…” Her eyes went blank, and she shifted. Koree breathed in sharply, then shuddered, before finally falling to her knees, trembling. Lethrena smiled, her elven fangs exposed, quite a bit sharper than Broderick had thought, now that he had a chance to see them fully.

“There we are… I think I have a handle on this, now,” she purred, twisting her free hand in the air. Koree writhed, rolling on her back and arching, falling, arching again, body taut in an ecstasy of pain, face tight in a concentration not to scream.

“That’s the problem with life-like avatars, wouldn’t you say, Broderick?” Lethrena smiled to her lover. “They are, after all, life-like. But they are very--” Her hand twisted hard, and the Tauren let out a sob, shaking-- “--easy to control.”

Broderick smiled benignly, moving over with Lethrena to the construct and kneeling down beside it. “Now then,” he said in a smooth voice, “you’ll give me all you have regarding Titan relics in this desert, as well as an update on your precious bull. I’m sure you’re still updating his location, hm?”

Koree shuddered, pressing her lips together tight. His smile turned malicious.

Lethrena twisted again. The Tauren’s scream filled their ears—but no help would come; it was, after all, only them who could hear it. What music it was.

<*>                    <*>                    <*>

The Gilnean shoreline was dyed red with the blood of its people.

Against the thundering sky, a last-ditch effort to evacuate was underway. Sylvanas Windrunner’s army of Forsaken corpse-soldiers pounded against the line of defenses, bolstered by the hard axes of Orcs. King Greymane had laid his son to rest, and along the harbor he helped his people onto the last ship.

The Night Elves has come to their aid as best they could, sailors ready to cast off, arrows flying out at the oncoming assailants.

And among that last line of Sentinel women, dancing and carving with their glaives, was Rhea’s Ghost.

Kas darted along, daggers drenched, slashing at legs, stabbing through weaknesses in armor, falling back into the shadows as easily as he arrived. Where the Sentinels were battered and swarmed, he eased the weight; where one of the army broke through, he drove them into the earth and destroyed them.

He was a force to behold.

Rhea stood on the cliff-side above, watching through the rain with Ye’tka. He had offered the chance to look into her bodyguard’s dreams; Rhea accepted, seeing Kas twitching and hissing in his sleep. She did not know what might be done to ease this, though.

The Sentinels fell back along the shore, Kas covering them. An arrow flew out of the air at one of the beautiful Night Elf warriors, but Kas carved it out of the air and continued on. The Sentinels boarded the ship, and Genn Greymane called for the Elves to cast off.

Kas turned, sprinting back for his only chance of survival--

One of the Orc women roared, throwing a bola his way--

The rope caught his knees, tightening and smacking them together. Kas fell into the mud, scrambling and slicing through the bonds with his dagger--

The Elves, unable to wait any longer, cast off. The ship moved slow at first, then picked up with arcane magic helping the sails burst onwards.

The battlefield lulled. Even the attackers, much as they should have pressed onwards and killed him, or thrown all they had at the boat, stood and wondered at the King who condemned his best fighter to die.

The ship sailed on and away into the mists, and into safety. Kas got up slowly from the mud. Lightning flashed and thunder cracked its whip through the sky. His daggers trembled.

Sylvanas Windrunner made her way forth on her skeletal horse, bow in-hand. The army behind her waited for her signal, ready, looking on at the last Gilnean to destroy. The Banshee Queen smirked at his pathetic, bloody, muddy figure.

“He abandoned you.”

Her voice was not cruel, nor particularly loud, but it was clear. It purred in righteousness and cut the wound of betrayal hard and jagged.

“You don’t have to fight us, anymore. I have need of a Gilnean now. One without ties or care for his King and country. One who is willing to right the wrongs committed to him.”

Rhea narrowed her eyes on the ridge. She could hear everything--feel everything--through Kas in his dream-state. This was a recreation; perfectly so. He had no hope of survival; struggling helpless against the weight of both sides, now. Like an army of Black Dragons in the way of an already impossible alchemical feat…

“I need a spy, bluntly put. And, unlike that mutt you Gilneans call ‘King,’ I would value you--dearly.”

He turned, slow. Eyes still shut in an adrenaline of battle. He gulped, heart racing. There was no way to win this fight. Even after beating back the Underground; even after Kelleniana rousing him from the Wolf’s curse, and fighting through the crowds to help his people escape--he would die here, alone and hated in the world, on a plain of cold mud.

He sighed softly and shifted his weight back, defensive. His fingers recurled around his daggers, and he brought them up, ready. Sylvanas chuckled softly.

“Then I shall have to keep you to experiment with--”

In a blinding motion, she tore an arrow from its quiver, one Kas would be hit with, some form of anesthesia, and taken to her Undercity--but he would break out before her scientists could test their plague strains on him; he would run and run east and hope a flight down to the Badlands--

Rhea jumped from the cliff, shifting to her majestic Red form, letting out a roar that split the sky with its ferocity. Sylvanas and her forces whipped their heads around, and scattered in a frenzy as the Red Dragon breathed her fire upon them all.

Kas tensed, moving back to the harbor’s edge, weapons up on-guard, exhausted and confused.

Rhea flew over them once--twice--thrice--and landed on the last few she had missed. Kas was shivering now from cold. She trotted over to him, shifting to a form she had never tried before.

Kas opened his eyes, confused, the adrenaline slowly dying off and the ache of so many wounds taking hold--but they were nothing compared with the vision before him.

Where she walked, it was warm and dry as a summer evening. She moved up against him gracefully, and the heat of her person calmed his shivers. Her deep red hair fell braidless against her shoulder; her brown skin looking so soft, but blemished with the subtle scars of conflicts past. Her red eyes were soft, concerned, nurturing. She held pride to herself; she was not so madly his that she would serve him, but there was undeniably the quiet tenderness of love in her gaze.

And he knew, suddenly. Just who she was.

He murmured her name, but could not hear it against the sound of rain in the mud. She did, and smiled just for him, putting a hand against his covered cheek. His gaze weakened, and he pressed against her touch more firmly, shutting his eyes again. The fight was over. He was safe. He could rest. He was not alone anymore.

 

Ye’tka moved back from the Gilnean’s bedside. Rhea glanced up at him, hand still against the slumbering man’s cheek.

“Thank you.”

The Troll smiled to his Goblin friend and nodded slightly. He turned. There was work to be done.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ye'tka works hard to find the Titan orb for Rhea, and finds more than he bargained for--and Rhea and Kas speak of the bleak realities ahead of them.

The night was deep, and Fuselight was finally silent atop its windy mountain. Atano dozed in the booth, while others had retreated to their rooms.

One person, however, remained painfully awake.

Ye’tka Qoatoll had spent the last few hours setting up a ritual along the steeper edge of the mountain. The wind whipped him viciously, and yet where he murmured his tools to stay in place, they did. A bowl filled with water remained both still and placid. The small fires of candles licked upwards as they would in a tomb. Incense drifted up and away in lazy arcs.

He knelt down in the middle of a circle of elements, murmuring old words. The wind’s power around him died away, and his ears were filled with silence. He shut his eyes, concentrating, and as he did, pushed deep down in his core. Something shifted, and he stood up slowly, opening his eyes.

His body still knelt, murmuring its rhetoric. The world around him had turned a rich blue-gray, mist enveloping the edges of the world as if they were still being sketched. He looked around him, and a hand took his, slender and cool. If he squeezed it, it would burst into mist and vanish.

He had no idea who his guide was. She had always come when he went into this place. She was a Troll like him--at least, in outward appearance--with a simple gray dress in tatters around her feet. Her arms were the only bare part of her; a large hood was drawn up and over her face, and dipped so low down that he would’ve had to look straight up it to see underneath. He had never once thought of doing it.

She gripped him firmly, drifting over to the edge of the mountainside. He wandered with. She stopped, pausing, turning her head slightly back at him in question.

“We need ta find the Titan orb Rheastrasza used. It flew off towards a ‘Waygate,’ of ‘Emergency-level Corruption.’”

She nodded in a slow, graceful movement, then looked out towards the desert again below. She glided off the cliff and into the air, with him. He relaxed as much as possible; tension, he found, weighed you down in this sort of flight. Best to simply go with it. That said…

He marked down as best he could where they were going. West-- West-- South-west-- falling through the rocks and stone and earth and deep, deep down--

They came out at a cavern deep in the ground, massive and wet and cold. There was no light whatsoever to see by, but Ye’tka could see perfectly fine. He took a breath, wincing. The place smelled of decay.

His guide pointed. His gaze followed her finger, and he gasped in sharply.

The Titan orb lay motionless on the ground at the foot of a huge structure. At the base and around the top, two large circles of stone ran around parallel, numerous strong pillars between them, symmetrical, enchantments intricate beyond anything Ye’tka had even imagined. Within the bottom circle, a platform had been constructed for things to stand. Even now, so many thousands of years after its use, the platform still swirled as a whirlpool of stars. The top lay open for whatever might come through it to land.

“Please tell me that still works…” He gestured at the orb. His guide nodded again. He smiled and started to move towards it--

With force he hadn’t encountered before, she firmly pulled him back.

He stumbled behind her again, looking at her with a frown. She held her hand, and the chamber resonated with power, gray lines shuddering and falling still again. Ye’tka’s eyes widened.

On the other side of the Waygate, hidden deep in the shadows, there was an old power waiting to come through. It watched them with sinister eyes, cunning and patient, waiting in the darkness beyond this realm with its tongue running over its teeth.

“Interesting,” a quiet female voice behind him said, “I hadn’t expected anyone else to see this place first.”

Ye’tka looked around sharply, seeing the Blood Elf woman from the Twilight approaching. She paused, seeing his guide, and grinned.

“I seem to have greatly miscalculated the degree of your skill, sir. I’d heard the Qoatoll family was wonderfully talented, but I had not expected someone so young and handsome as yourself to have the talent of a much older, far more boring practitioner…”

She approached slowly, and Ye’tka moving back against the guide. She apparently hadn’t seen their visitor yet--or, he thought suddenly, she considered her far less of a threat than whatever that old power was.

“I will give you a choice, Troll,” she murmured, voice smooth and rich. “You can join my mate and I. We aren’t looking to serve those brutes--” She gestured at the thing beyond. “--but we simply wish to exist with each other at the top. Away from race wars, from genocides; to be together ruling our small share in harmony and intimacy.”

She stopped in front of him, smiling as a jungle cat would.

“You could rule, with us. Lie with us. We would ask nothing of you but that you help with all this power you have, Ye’tka.”

He shuddered, pressing back further against the guide’s cold robes. “I’d rathah be eaten by the iron teeth of that  _ thing _ .”

Her smile faded, green eyes piercing under her hood.

“Fair enough.”

In a swift motion, she pulled a dagger from the folds of her robes, plunging the curving blade between his ribs--

\--Ye’tka gasped and threw himself back on the cliff-side. The candle reared the blew out. The bowl of water toppled over, and the stream ran up his leg before he scrambled onto his feet. He shuddered, buffeted with wind, quickly feeling over his chest.

There was no stab wound--but where she had done it, an aching pain resonated within him.

He shuddered again and made his way slowly down the hillside to find somewhere much warmer to sleep.

 

Lethrena pulled back from her scrying pool, purring.

“It’s right where she said it is,” she murmured to Broderick. He smiled.

“And,” she continued, tracing his cheek, “that Troll boy found it too. Which can only make me think that they’ll be there, and we won’t have to go out of our way to kill them all.”

He raised a brow. “Ye’tka Qoatoll was there?”

“With a guide. She didn’t see me. He’s quite talented--and has no interest in joining us.”

Broderick nodded softly, pulling his mate closer and kissing her. The winds howled outside. Koree sat huddled up in the furthest possible corner of the tent away from them. It wasn’t far at all.

<*>                    <*>                    <*>  


Morning arrived in Fuselight. The Goblins got up, wandering through hangovers to their places. Sally dragged Fritz back again and again. Atano woke up to find the exhausted form of his Troll friend huddled up near him, and draped his cloak down over the smaller, shivering man.

Kas woke, and Rhea was gone.

He sat up quickly, then grit his teeth, wincing, the blood rushing from his head all at once. He swung his legs out of bed and took a deep breath. The numbness fell away, and the dancing spots slowly faded from his sight. He got up, stretching, wincing hard but not stopping until he could move just like he used to.

The small Goblin woman came in, rubbing her face, something obviously gnawing at her mind--pausing seeing him, eyes widening slightly. She shut the door and leaned against it, crossing her arms and raising a brow.

“Good morning…”

“Morning.” He blinked. “Was I not supposed to get up?”

She shrugged. “I don’t mind if you’re up to going now. It’s better to go soon. I’m more… bemused… by the eyeful, Kas.”

He frowned slightly, then glanced down. He balked, sitting down quickly in bed and tossing covers over himself.

“I  _ had _ pants,” he grumbled.

Her smirk grew. “I really don’t mind, Kas.”

He blushed harder. She laughed.

“You mortal races and your opposition to natural beauty-- fine, yes; cover up; I’m  _ so _ scandalized; oh, my poor feminine eyes, whatever shall they  _ do _ now?”

He rolled his eyes, and she laughed harder. He glanced around the room, finding his armor hanging up, having been washed off and sewn back together where it was cut. He quietly put it on, Rhea giggling madly to herself.

“M’glad you’re in a good mood, at least,” he mumbled.

She finally stopped, letting out the last bit of humor as an “ahem!”

“Kas, dear,” she said with a sigh, “out here, you find things to keep you in a good mood, or you go mad.”

Kas glanced her way. She smiled sweetly up at him. He nodded. “Fair enough.”

He put everything on save the cowl, moving over to her. “Mind my asking where you went?”

She raised a bemused brow. “Keeping tabs on all my secrets?”

He crossed his arms, offering a firm smile. “I  _ am _ supposed to be your bodyguard.”

“And you’re doing a marvelous job so far guarding my body,” she replied innocently. “Quite closely, hm?”

He blushed, and she grinned impishly again. It faded quickly as she sighed, hopping up on a chair.

“I had to talk to Hiero about something. A… safety net, let’s call it. A solution to the worst outcome I can think of.”

Kas nodded softly, kneeling down to be eye-to-eye with her.

“Besides that,” she said, sighing, “I’m waiting for Ye’tka to wake up. I asked him last night to look for the orb; I have faith he found it.”

Kas nodded again.

She shifted about with a slight wince in the seat, grumbling. “I had to rewrap myself, too. Life’s never convenient.”

Kas blinked, then nodded again, a bit more shy.

Rhea looked off at nothing then smiled to herself, musing: “The egg’s cured.”

Her bodyguard smiled, putting a hand on hers. She glanced down at it, then at him, pausing, smile turning bittersweet. He blinked, starting to take his hand back.

“Keep it there,” she murmured softly.

He paused, moving it back.

“Kaskaeld Remor,” she mumbled, then looked away, taking a long breath. “...What are we doing?”

He blinked again, then looked down, thinking. He glanced back up.

“Enjoying each other’s company quite well?”

“Hm~” She smiled and nodded. “That’s a good way to put it, yes.”

The smile faded again to quiet. Kas took a deep breath.

“Should I not..?”

Rhea looked at him quickly. “Whatever you’re about to ask, no. You should, Kas. Please.”

He nodded, slow, watching her. “Then what’s wrong?”

She smiled bitterly again, putting a hand against his cheek.

“Kaskaeld Remor.” She stroked his cheek. “You’re so fragile.”

Kas frowned slightly, confused.

“I don’t mean that as an insult, Kas; you’re very strong. You’re resilient. Far more so than many other humans I’ve met--but you’re still human. There’ll come a day when I blink, and just like that, I’ve missed your last breath. I’ll blink again, and your children will be ash and dust and memory. Generations will pass, and the world will forget your name, until only I know you.”

Her brows furrowed, and she blinked quickly, forcing back emotion.

“And even then, there’ll come a day when I think back, and I’ve forgotten. I’ll forget you, piece by piece; your name, your history. Your face. And all I’ll know of you; all I’ll feel, is the empty longing for memories of comfort and love I’ve exhausted fully.”

He moved closer to her side, pulling her into a warm embrace. She moved her arms around his neck and a tremble ran through her.

“Rheastrasza,” he murmured. “Mortal as I am, I adore you more than I have anyone in my life. If that future bothers you, then I’ll do for you what I haven’t done in quite some time. I’ll draw you a portrait of us, making sure to label it properly.”

He moved back slightly so she could see his smile. It was from how he was before, so long ago: childhood innocence bursting through a tender heart.

“Besides, you beautiful lady, do you really think I wouldn’t haunt you for centuries to come?” He grinned wolfishly. “You aren’t getting rid of me with something simple like plain  _ death _ .”

A small laugh burst from her, and she pulled him in tight, kissing him with a passion she’d forgotten she’d still possessed.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Twilight set out for the Waygate. Lethrena has a powerful vision, and they run across unexpected company...

Rhea helped Kaskaeld to his feet, and they got set to go. Ye’tka awoke, telling them about his vision the night before. Atano, after much deliberation, was allowed to accompany them--only in Kas’s line of sight, so that if he proved not to be friendly, the rogue could dispatch of him. Hiero let them go, thinking over Rhea’s last plan unhappily. And, miles away, the Twilight group set out across the desert, days closer to the corrupted Waygate.

Broderick had set out early, telling the camp where they were headed and why. The guards were shocked but came to heap praises on Lethrena for her “scrying discovery,” claiming she would ascend the ranks of the Twilight with swiftness and grace if they could indeed bring the Masters through into the Badlands.

The Titan Disc and its unfortunate avatar remained a close-kept secret.

Koree walked along Broderick, unable to stray far from her shell. He had tucked it down his armor, wearing it as a necklace like her Brave had. Lethrena had no idea how many gazes he let wander, and yet the construct found she could not craft new attire for herself. Atano’s impression of her had sunk deep into her processing; having not been handled in so long, her files had clung to Koree’s image like rust to a blade.

Around midday, without any warning whatsoever, Lethrena sunk to her knees against the sand.

Aayani, behind her, was the first to notice, yelping and catching her as she fell face-first. Broderick whipped around, kneeling beside his mate, careful not to go too fast or let his striking concern show. The healer-woman rolled the Blood Elf onto her back, checking her eyes, her pulse.

“What happened? Heat-stroke?”

Aayani shook her head, glancing up at him. “She’s perfectly fine.”

“Then what..?” Broderick frowned.

“She’s in a trance.”

Broderick raised a brow, glancing at his mate. He knew of powerful scryers who were victim to trance-like states coming unannounced. That, however, was typically if they were extremely inexperienced--which Lethrena most certainly was not--or if something beyond was calling them in.

“Is it safe to carry her as we travel, Aayani?”

The goat-woman glanced at him, then looked over Lethrena carefully. “How much skill does Lady Goldenfire have with projection?”

“As far as I know, quite a lot.”

“Then she can find her way back easily,” Aayani said to herself, hoisting the Blood Elf up into her arms. “Please shut her eyes, Broderick; the sun will damage them otherwise--or, at least, they will dry out.”

Broderick nodded, shutting them carefully, glancing at the medic. “I can carry her.”

Aayani smiled. “You lead. If there is a reason my skills are needed, then you carry her.”

Broderick nodded, turning around briskly and starting out again.

Regis and Cieron were both in miserable shape, the Dwarf moreso in Broderick’s opinion. Cieron was whimpering every now and then pathetically, and his arm ended in an bandaged, bloody stump, but it was neither bleeding nor infected, the lucky bastard. It may hurt like all hell, but it did not impair his movement--only his skills, which was delightful.

Regis, on the other hand, not only had slits cut out over his eyes, but pain with each movement, even standing up. The bandages around the area were soaked with tears, which Broderick had not expected from the Dwarf, and he let out a few whimpers every now and then. Aayani had not shaved off his beard--but she had gotten rid of his mustache, and his bruised lips were left hanging below the bandages, parching rapidly in the desert sun. His face was a disjointed, bumpy curve--like a pocket of air wrinkling a rug you’d love to smack down flat. If Broderick, or anyone, had so much as poked at where Regis’s nose once had been, Broderick wouldn’t be surprised if the Dwarf let out a wail.

Ahead, Caeon, a large Night Elf male, trudged along at the head of the group. Broderick admired him--he did not stand out in any way, but he was proficient in every way. He was not the best warrior (though, maybe now, with Baras dead and Regis incapacitated), or the best spell-caster (though, again, with Cieron down…), or the best rogue (though he was now, with Jagal dead), or the best healer (Aayani would have to die--Broderick did feel a pang of true remorse at that; but, she was devout; she wouldn’t understand what Lethrena had helped him understand).

Caeon was, in Broderick’s opinion, thus the deadliest of the remaining forces.

Yes, his guards were all extremely skilled, but typically they were excellent in one of those fields and then proficient in another. Caeon had none he was excellent at--but he filled any role. Jack of all trades, master of none; better than to be the master of one.

They came to a huge chasm, the sands and rocks blackened with delicious agony and furious power. Waves of desert rippled where Deathwing himself, Black Dragon of death and destruction, had torn against the world. The ground was still charred and cruel, cauterized but sensitive, dipping down in defeat.

Caeon led the way down, followed by Broderick. A few guards Broderick knew the names of but considered unimportant for the time being--not as much a threat, that is--trudged along wearily to either side of him. Three more sheltered Aayani and her band of injured. Broderick felt both glad and suddenly nervous at how few of his guards remained. He hadn’t noticed it, perhaps, with Baras lumbering along with them; that Tauren could’ve taken on an army by himself.

Except for the Ghost of Gilneas. Kaskaeld Remor. It was even more reason to skin him for a pelt.

“HOLD!”

A voice from higher-up called out, and Broderick was roused from his thoughts by the emergence of a group of five rogues coming out from all sides, blunderbusses drawn and trained on them. He glanced around with an annoyed sigh, his guards swiftly moving to a guard position.

“What is it you want?” Broderick called back, trying to contain his tone to simply be stern.

The leader, an Orc, stepped forward, a rifle held taut in her hands, trained directly on Broderick’s head.

“Your valuables. Not your lives--unless you try anything.”

“Twilight filth,” another of her band muttered, spitting at them.

“And if we refuse?”

“Then you die,” the Orc said with a grim smirk.

Broderick held his gaze on her, unenthused. “And do you kill many who travel through here, after they’ve given you their possessions?”

The Orc raised a brow. “It depends if I like their attitudes or not, cultist. I don’t particularly like yours.”

Broderick chuckled, low and quiet. Lethrena had seen his future. He was not destined to die here like some dog in the dust.

“Death may be a hobby of yours, girl, but it our  _ profession _ .”

He snapped his fingers at his side, and in a flurry of movement, Caeon darted forward, knocking the rifle to the side and stepping into the Orc’s space. She fired, surprised, hitting one of her bandits in the chest, knocking him off his feet to fire uselessly at the air. The other guards darted forward, and Broderick admired--and resented--that there were no casualties among his party. The bandits were incapacitated--but they were not killed or injured beyond a limb twisted to get them to submit.

The Twilight always offered a choice, first.

“Caeon!” Broderick called out, as he was the next available mage they had functioning. “If you would do the honors?”

The Night Elf bowed. “Yes, my Lord,” he murmured smoothly, waiting until another guard took his place holding down the violent, swearing Orc woman, moving smoothly to their bags. Broderick didn’t quite know what to make of Caeon’s sense of regality within hierarchy, but he certainly didn’t mind it.

Caeon moved back to the Orc, murmuring and telling her her options. If she accepted, he would murmur the cursed words, pushing the athame into her heart and corrupting it for the Masters. If not, the guard would kill her, and she would serve them with her blood and skin and organs. And bones--bones were always useful. The Twilight, Broderick thought, were wonderfully efficient with using everything available--unlike idiot warmongers, leaving perfectly good bodies to be pecked up by crows on the battlefield.

The Orc shuddered, but Broderick was surprised to see Caeon slip the athame in smoothly. He hadn’t taken her to be so easily swayed--but, if she tried rebelling, the curse would burn out her heart. Once a Twilight initiate completed their training, their instructor removed the curse; by that point, they’d be foolish to break their vows.

Or promised visions of a future of paradise by and with Lethrena Goldenfire…

The one she shot was already half-dead, and Aayani, Broderick knew, had no way to save him. He motioned the guard standing over him to end it. At least it was quick--the dissection taking a little longer but not enough that it would detain them too badly. Of the others, weeping bitterly faced with their options, one chose “bravely” to die, and did, stupidly, being similarly dissected. The other two, ironically a Troll and a Tauren--much like Jagal and Baras, only younger, far less-trained, and infinitely less trustworthy--made the smarter call to join them.

Caeon returned the athame to its sheath, blessing the blade as he did. He joined the rest of the guards, helping dissect the two dead.

“What now?” the Orc woman called out, shifting on her feet, face pale.

Broderick glanced lazily her way. “Now? Nothing. You wait there, silent and still. We have our own worries--you’ll accompany us. If you run, or fight, your hearts will burst to fire. Instantly. If you behave, you’ll get the privilege of watching these guards at work, and, when we return to Lady Azalia’s camp, you’ll go off to training.”

He smiled darkly. The Orc woman’s jaw tightened, but she fell silent. She wouldn’t make it past the camps, Broderick thought. She had joined them to survive, which was better than doing it out of fear, at least--those mindless, timid idiots were the worst, but they thankfully perished early on--but the selfishness of your own survival would not get you far either.

Lethrena jerked about and glanced up, confused. “Aayani?”

“Broderick. Your second is back.”

“Wonderful.” Broderick strolled over to his mate as Aayani let her down to the charred earth. Lethrena looked around, dazed, stretching and getting used to her body again. She finally met Broderick’s eyes. “Report, Lethrena.”

She subtly mouthed “later” then cleared her throat.

“I got a strong vision of the Waygate, Broderick. There are a few who know of it, but there is one Master in particular very excited for us to find it. Yrr’jaiish, the Seer, lies beyond, trapped in darkness for a thousand thousand years. It wished us luck and told me in great detail how to get to our destination--as well as what it is that’s bringing Rheastrasza there.”

Broderick raised a brow. “What is leading that Red there?”

“There’s an item on the floor. One she used to actually null the gift bestowed on all Black Dragon eggs. A Titan--security, I believe--device, one intent on ‘purifying.’ I believe we could find a way to easily redirect its energies to flow opposite, spreading the gifts of the Masters and helping bring them through any and all Waygates found on Azeroth.”

Aayani purred, excited. The guards clamored to themselves, continuing their work dissecting. The new three--the Orc bitch especially, Broderick thought coldly--seemed not to like these events at all. It was too late for them, though… oh, far too late. This was their deserved justice for daring to attempt an ambush on him.

Koree, looking truly ill and crying so beautifully, looked at Aayani and up at the sky, trying not to look at the dissections.

Broderick took a breath, nodding and smiling to his mate. “That is, perhaps, the best news I’ve heard all week. Wonderful work, Lady Goldenfire.”

He reserved her proper title for when he was especially thrilled with her. She bowed her head low in respect--and, he knew, to hide her beaming smile and blush from everyone else.

Things were going quite well, he thought. Their blissful future would come soon enough.


	33. The Day That Deathwing Came

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhea's party come across the best storytellers in all of Azeroth.

The day wore on, hot and brutal as the sun beat down. Broderick and Lethrena led their Twilight group along the hills, stopping as the sun fell in the sky to make camp for the night. With luck, they might get to their destination tomorrow.

Rhea and her allies made a lot more progress that day. A lighter party, they were all in good health and could take long strides--even the Goblin woman. No one had injured to care for; they did not run into bandits, and so they had caught up to where Broderick’s crew had been that morning.

It was not enough, and they all knew it. None of them voiced it, however, as Rhea looked determinedly on at the land around them.

Kas kept the egg sack with him dutifully, slung over his shoulder with one hand, the other resting constantly on the hilt of one of his daggers. Atano trudged along ahead of him throughout the desert heat, bird at his side, and made neither a comment on the situation nor a complaint of injustice nor even the slightest look back at the rogue. If he messed up, he would die, plain and simple.

Ye’tka walked along next to Kas, behind Rhea, humming softly to himself and trying at first to stir up conversation. Rhea was the most amenable to talking, and did, but as he was behind her, their conversation fell awkwardly and quickly to silence, and the Troll contented himself to watch Atano’s tail swish hypnotically back and forth.

With as little love as he felt for the Tauren, Kas admittedly to himself that he admired the quiet dignity the man had. He was an atrocity, but he had humility and a startlingly large air of respect, at least towards Rhea and Ye’tka. Kas had no qualms being hated; the feeling was mutual.

Mid-day, they had stopped and ate in quiet, finding shade against one of the cliff-sides. Atano had commented mildly that they seemed to be making quite a good pace, and Rhea had brightened up quite a bit. Sweat matted her deep red hair against her green skin, and she caught her breath finally, slowly down the heaving of her chest.

“Couldn’t’cha change to anotha larga form, Rhea?” Ye’tka asked, watching her. “So that all dis walkin’ isn’t gonna leave ya winded?”

She smiled brilliantly. “People expect to see Goblins out here, sir. You three could be wonderfully pretty Blood Elves, dazzling eyes with your looks--but if you had a Goblin with you, no one would think twice. It’s just a-given you’re my helpers, from a first-glance. We blend in, that way.”

Ye’tka nodded, and soon enough, they were on their way again.

When they finally got to the blackened valley of charred rocks that the Twilight had come across that morning, the light was starting to turn golden in the sky, and even Rhea herself had to admit defeat for traveling all that distance in one day. Atano pointed out a campfire in the distance to their south, at the head of the valley, and soon enough they came across three fine fellows at said camp.

They were greeted jovially by a Dwarf, a Gnome, and an Orc, all male, all looking rather fit, and all quite content to share space at the crackling fire. Kas was by far the most tentative, but Rhea convinced him to come rest, as the sun was setting fast, the winds were getting colder, and they were more than capable of handling three men out in the middle of nowhere.

Besides, she thought to herself, she knew this type of person; they were the type that society rejected not because they were bad in any way, but because they simply had no easy place to fit in. Those kinds of people loved good company.

They dug their way through some rather excellent mountain cat stew the Orc had made before the Dwarf stood up suddenly--barely topping Atano’s height as the Tauren sat down on the ground--and announced that he would tell their visiting friends about The Day That Deathwing Came.

Rhea especially wanted to hear it, smiling politely and wondering what information about her Black cousin this Dwarf might have.

“Deathwing made quite a mess when he passed through these parts,” Theldurin said, stoic, black beard moving where his mouth should be, buried under all that hair. His large nose and beady eyes were scrunched up in a furious attempt at commanding the awe of his audience. His two companions listened with complete, rapt attention, and sheer godless boredom, alternating between the two when the story got good and when it lulled.

“If it weren’t for me, he’d probably still be here, layin’ waste to all the good people of the Badlands!”

Kas coughed on his spoonful of soup, blinking up at the Dwarf incredulously. Ye’tka bit his lip hard to hold back a laugh at the squat figure. Atano fed his bird, listening.

Rhea, knowing this Dwarf not to be even slightly a Dragon, smiled wider in amusement and watched him spin his yarn. It might have been nice to get word of her enemy. And yet, making him up to be foolish helped her morale far more.

“What, ye don’t believe me?” Theldurin said, looking at Kas (who wiped soup off his luscious beard). “Fine; let me tell ye the whole story.”

“Tell us, tell us!” the Gnome and the Orc clamored, wry grins on their faces and a lazy, laid-back energy of routine call-and-response making Rhea join in with her own “tell us!”

Theldurin looked at the Goblin woman, blinking, then beamed. He began:

“I remember it well. It was a bright, shiny day… I was just mindin’ my own business, when all of a sudden, Deathwing appeared!”

Theldurin mimed huge wings, accompanied by a loud “WHOOOSH!” and arcing his upper body. Rhea gasped as deeply as she could, and Ye’tka looked away, face red trying to keep his laughter in.

“I said to myself, ‘I’m gonna punch that dragon in the face!’”

Rhea blinked then pouted. “Do you hate all dragons, fair Theldurin?”

The Dwarf blinked, pausing before his next sentence, then grinned at Rhea, blushing lightly having to keep his eye contact with her. She was a very pretty lass.

“No, ma’am; but it is Deathwing, after all. I think Dragons are gorgeous creatures--like yerself.”

Rhea giggled and Kas raised a brow, taking in another slow mouthful of stew. She glanced at him then put a hand over his, petting it. Theldurin looked them over and smiled, relaxing a little. No need to impress her if she was taken--that was fine! Time to make a good story, then!

“Unfortunately, the cataclysm had knocked loose a bunch of angry elementals. ‘You dang-blasted rock elementals!’ I said, ‘I’ll punch you too!’

“And so I set off, through the spiny valleys that Deathwing had burned inta the Badlands! Elementals turned as I charged, but I laughed, and WHAM! one of ‘em shattered, BAM! two more! WHAPPOW! CRACK! FSSSH!”

Theldurin mimed a series of actually rather impressive punches. He laughed, right-hooking and uppercutting the sentient piles of rock! The Orc frowned.

“Theldurin,” the green-skinned man commented mildly. “What was the ‘FSSSH’?”

Theldurin paused, grinning. “That one had a geyser in it.”

The Orc nodded sagely, waving for his companion to proceed.

"Deathwing thought he could outsmart ol’ Theldurin, putting up barricade after barricade of loose stones, but CRASH! I hit through ‘em, sending ten tons of boulders smashing to the ground! Finally, I got ta Deathwing himself, an’ he’d transformed to look like a towering human, with grey skin and orange veins like ash and fire, black armor like obsidian, at least twelve feet tall!

“‘HA!’ Deathwing said, voice echoing through the night like a hundred lions, ‘puny Dwarf! I’ll tear down this world and rebuild it in fire! And there’s nothing you can do about it!!!’

“‘OH YEAH?’ I yelled, and, leaping upwards, CRACK!ed my fist into his steel jaw, knocking him back and onto his tuckus in the dirt!”

The Dwarf jumped up as high as possible--barely up to Atano’s chin, had he been standing--uppercutting the air and doing a very lovely spin mid-air to land daintily.

“‘Take that, ye damned menace!’ I said, standing triumphant--er, pardon me vulgar tongue, milady--and the scamp whimpered and cried, turning into his lumbering Dragon form to fly away through the clouds!

“And that,” said Theldurin, sticking his chin up in a confident smirk, “is The Day That Deathwing Came. Some story, huh?” He grinned from ear to ear, looking from Rhea to the less-enthused Kas. “Now ye know why Deathwing hasn’t come back here since.”

A good thing for that, Rhea thought. Her smile faded rapidly, remembering the chat she’d had with Hiero about her contingency plan. Kas couldn’t know about it…

She tightened her grip on his hand slightly, and he glanced over at her, alert. She blinked at him then put on a smile again. It was a night to enjoy herself--and pleasant company. No worries.

“No, no, no, Theldurin,” the Gnome commented suddenly, standing up. His mustache wriggled on his upper lip with the force of his movements, and Rhea couldn’t help but giggling at the tiny stature of a large ego. “You’re telling the story wrong!”

“Oh, I  _ am _ , am I?” Theldurin said, sitting down between the Orc and Atano. “You tell it then, Lucien!”

All eyes turned to Lucien Tosselwrench, and the Gnome huffed out with a smile, popping the collar on his teeny tiny button-down shirt, wrinkled and smudged to Hell with sand.

“Not  _ only _ was Theldurin’s story  _ wrong _ , but it was boring, unimaginative, and slow.”

The Dwarf scoffed out in wildly overacted indignation, and crossed his arms. Lucien turned mostly to Rhea, and bowed low.

“I’ll tell you how things really happened that day, milady! If you’ll permit, of course?”

Kas glanced at Rhea. The fire crackled merrily in her eyes. A grin lit up her features with mirth, and he saw who she was, past her obligations and cunning. Broken down to her core, the fire illuminated a woman who was not afraid to be part of the humor, for nothing more than the pure joy of innocent fun. Without any worries, without any reservations, she gladly played along, making their story-telling a show that even the performers could enjoy.

He knew that one day, by her side, he might even be the same. He couldn’t be that way, now, but being there with her, there was something that worked. That smile tore past him--all his muscles, all his scars--and dug itself into his heart.

Head over heels, he was in love with her completely.

“Go on!” she cried gaily, “Please, good sir Lucien--enlighten us all.”

Lucien Tosselwrench took a breath, and began:

“First of all, on The Day That Deathwing Came, it wasn’t sunny out: it was cloudy when Deathwing appeared. Lightning cracked above, and thunder rolled over the plains like a tidal wave! CRACKSSSSH! THOOOM…

“The cowardly dragon must’ve seen me, because as he passed overhead to eat my handsome companions, he turned abruptly and flew into the clouds!”

Rhea batted her lashes. “Are you saying, sir, that all Dragons are cowardly?”

“Why, no, milady,” Lucien said, bowing low again, “Only the ‘ferocious’ Deathwing! And I doubt any Dragon could be as brave and courageous as yourself!”

Rhea giggled and blushed and hid her face momentarily against Kas’s arm. Her bodyguard shook his head, but she could see a smile and an unwilling laugh start to bubble up inside him. Atano let out a bemused sigh, and Ye’tka, finally unable to keep it in anymore, let out a peal of laughter that knocked him back onto the dusty ground to catch his breath.

Bolstered by his audience and the smiles of his fellow story-tellers, Lucien grinned and continued:

“‘I’ll find you in those clouds, you worm!’ I yelled. ‘And then I’ll throw you to Kalimdor!’ The one problem was those clouds were a bit higher up than a Gnome like me could handle--or even a ‘tall’ lad like Theldurin!”

Theldurin huffed again overdramatically and spluttered.

“Luckily, I had been tinkering with my world-shrinking device. I decided to keep shrinking the world until I could reach the clouds. Now, the way a world-shrinking device operates, the user shrinks down the world and every inhabitant on it until it’s as small as the user wants! Everything is completely uniform, so that there’s no sudden shrinkage that billions of people all across the world have to deal with--only the user remains the same height.”

“By that notion,” Atano said mildly, amused and petting his bird, “would it just be a self-enlarging device? You’d be the only one ‘growing.’”

Rhea glanced over at him in surprise, looking at the carefree smile that bounded across the once-formidable man’s face. Ye’tka, between Kas and Lucien, looked opposite himself at the Tauren and felt his heart beat harder.

“Ah, my fair fellow!” Lucien said, shaking his head firmly. “You see, there’s a world of difference between a world-shrinking device and a self-enlargement device! A world-shrinking device affects everyone ELSE! A self-enlargement device only affects  _ you _ .”

“Ahh, I see,” Atano said, nodding along. “Thank you--I’d’ve been confused.”

“Quite all right, my Tauren friend! Quite all right indeed--Gnomish engineering escapes even the best Gnomes, sometimes! Anyhow--I shrunk the world enough that the top of my head touched the clouds, and so I began meticulously searching for the one that cowardly dragon was hiding in. Long and hard, I searched, with my friends here and, indeed, all of the Badlands cheering me on from below!

“Finally, however, I had searched every cloud, but I couldn’t find Deathwing. It was then that I realized where he was hiding!”

“Where, where?” Theldurin and the Orc chanted, joined in by Atano, Ye’tka, and Rhea. Kas watched, still quiet, a smile on his face. Rhea looked over it, purring softly to herself. He was very handsome when he relaxed. And if this was only him slightly relaxing, how would she ever get anything done when he mellowed out more completely?~

“He was hiding--in THE SUN!” Lucien pointed up, and the small crowd gasped, looking up at the dark sky above, painted brilliantly with stars.

“The sun burned me bad, but I had an obligation--no, a duty!--to grab that foul beast and hurl him far across the mighty ocean! I reached in, heedless of the fires, and grabbed that worm around his slimy neck--his scaly throat!

“‘HA!’ Deathwing cried, voice echoing through the night like a thousand tigers, ‘puny Gnome! I’ll tear down this world and rebuild it in ash! And there’s nothing you can do about it!!!’

“‘OH YEAH?!’ I yelled in a rich, deep voice. I summoned all my strength, faced west, and hurled him to Kalimdor! We heard him yelping and whimpering along the way, but nonetheless, he crashed down in the Un’goro crater, which is why it’s as deep as it is.”

Lucien fell silent for a moment. They all watched him, and he glanced around.

“The end! No moral. But that’s The Day That Deathwing Came.”

He sat down with a flump on the dirty earth.

“Wow, Lucien,” Theldurin said dryly. “You need to stop drinking  _ right now _ .”

Lucien stuck out his tongue.

Martek, the Orc, chuckled and stood. All eyes turned to him.

"I’d say that was a ridiculously tall tale, but it is  _ Lucien _ that told it.” Martek smirked down at the miniscule fellow. Lucien pouted and Theldurin chortled.

“Yours was also a bit  _ short _ , lad!” Martek continued, and Theldurin gasped with such an aggrieved face that Rhea doubled-up trying not to explode into wild laughter.

“Also, neither of their stories had hot babes in them.” Martek puffed out his chest. It was, admittedly, muscular.

Kas rolled his eyes, smiling unabashedly now. Ye’tka cheered next to him.

“So, sit back, ma’am; let me tell you what  _ really _ happened that day…”

Rhea sat back, snuggling up against her bodyguard’s arm. He gripped her hand affectionately tighter.

Martek cleared his throat, standing tall, and began:

“On The Day That Deathwing Came, blood rained from the skies. I believe I was showing my motorcycle, recently repaired up in Fuselight, to some hot babes at the time. After Deathwing appeared, they became quite frightened, but I only had room to rescue one of them!”

“What were the babes like, Martek?” Theldurin and Lucien said in a chorus, drawling on, completely unexcited about the “babes” and yet smiling like fools, listening to their friend.

“Why, I’m glad to elaborate, my fair fellows! There was an Orc admirer who’d held me in her gaze for as long as I can recall, with beautiful green skin like the fertile fields of the Barrens. ‘Martek,’ she said, ‘you are the bravest Orc I know! Take me from here!’”

“I thought the Barrens were yellow and--well, barren,” Lucien mused to himself. Martek shushed him loudly then continued:

“My Night Elf admirer was a bit less formal, when it came to clothing--she had self-made shoulder-pads of leaves and twigs, a green kilt that matched her hair, and a wonderfully dark wrap around her bosom that contrasted with her pale, moon-like skin in wondrous beauty. ‘Can a lady get a ride?’ she asked in her smooth, elven tongue.”

Theldurin sighed softly, shutting his eyes and letting that image sweep him away.

“My Human admirer was even more audacious than the last--wearing firm plate armor, toned and shining against her body, but exposing her belly and her arms, muscled to perfection in a way that would make any Orc swoon to touch her soft skin. ‘I won’t put up  _ too _ much of a fight, Martek~! Please let me accompany you!’

“My last admirer was by far the most daring--a Blood Elf woman, broad-chested but without a single piece to cover her breasts! They were firm, a little small perhaps, but I surely wouldn’t judge, as all ladies no matter how they look are beautiful, with small pink nipples, orange hair falling so tenderly down her back, stood with a cocky stance, one hip stuck out, green eyes looking over me longingly. ‘Room for one more, sugar?’ she said in her sultry, deep rich voice.”

Rhea buried her face into Kas’s arm, laughing almost violently hard. Lucien harrumphed.

“Martek, that was a Blood Elf  _ man _ .”

Martek blinked. “It was?” He looked over Rhea’s reaction, smiling. “Bah! I picked him anyway!”

Rhea cheered, wiping away giddy tears from her face.

Martek continued:

“The other three cried bitterly as we sped away, my Blood Elf admirer in my motorcycle’s attached side-car. I heard them exclaim that they loved me--my Night Elf darling--that they’d never forget our magical summer--my Orc love--and that if they must die, it’d be happily, having spent their last moments with me--my Human angel. 

“We rode along the canyon, careful to avoid falling rocks. Deathwing threw them at us: boulders of incredible size, which only a masterful driver like myself could avoid! My Blood Elf gal--or guy, that is (it  _ really _ is hard to tell, Lucien, y’know?!)--cried out, but there wasn’t one that landed even remotely near me or him! Still, they shook the earth, and with a roar my bike crested each hill, tearing through the air to reach that vile Dragon at the end of the valley!

“And no, my dear woman,” Martek said quickly with a dashing smile, “I do mean that only Deathwing is a vile Dragon--Dragons are a fascinating and radiant breed, but I doubt any could compare with your shining beauty in this firelight.”

Rhea blushed again, throwing her face against Kas’s arm again to ‘preserve her honor’ or somesuch thing that Goblin women acted like to bolster men’s egos. Normally she didn’t give a damn about it. This time, it was purely innocent, and they all were having fun anyway, so why not?

“When we got to the end of the canyon, however, that evil Deathwing had flown off to the top of the great pillar to the north!” Martek pointed up to a towering cliff-face at the other end of the valley of spines.

“It was then that I remembered something!”

“What did you remember, Martek?” Theldurin and Lucien called out.

“I remembered-- _ that my motorcycle could fly! _ ”

The crowd gasped, drawing in.

“I flew to the top of the pillar! During the flight, I shared a tender moment with the strapping Blood Elf--which, to preserve his decency, I of course cannot share. Atop the pillar, amidst the blood rain and the charred embers of his breath, I saw him: Deathwing, thirty feet tall and a mean human form!

“‘HA!’ Deathwing shrieked, voice echoing through the night like a million bears, ‘puny Orc! I’ll tear down this world and rebuild it in molten fury! And there’s nothing you can do about it!!!’

“‘OH YEAH?!?!’ I roared, pulled out my trusty switchblade! The time for the ultimate confrontation was at hand!”

Theldurin grinned, standing. “Yer buddy Theldurin was there, aye? And punched him in the face to loosen him up for ya!”

“What? No!”

“And then I threw him to Kalimdor!” Lucien said, standing as well.

“What?! Guys, c’mon, this is  _ my _ story!”

“Oh, we know it’s  _ yer _ story, Martek; ye spent more’n half of it ogling gals rather than getting to the excitement! And mine’s too  _ short _ , he says.”

“Fine!” said Martek, huffing and sighing, “then you  _ won’t _ get to hear about how I beat Deathwing in a knife fight!”

He stuck his chin up in defiance and haughty pouting, and both of his companions watched him then each other. Ye’tka glanced at Atano, and Rhea looked up at Kas, uncertain.

Martek smirked, then burst out laughing, Theldurin and Lucien joining in.

The camp laughed then settled.

“And that was The Day That Deathwing Came,” Martek said, wiping a tear from his eye. “I love that story so much. Thank you all for sticking around so long and listening. It’s always nice to have someone new to share tall tales with. I’m sure Lucien and Theldurin feel the same way.”

His companions nodded, smiling politely.

“You have any you want to share with us?”

“More just questions of who you all are,” Rhea said, smiling sweetly at him.

As she soon learned, Theldurin the Lost was indeed a lost Dwarf, having wandered away from his fellow archaeologists and never wandering back--but was happy to stay lost, free from his commitments. Lucien Tosselwrench, the Gnome, was one or two gizmos short according to his Gnomergan brethren, but as ludicrous and welcoming as his primped white mustache. Martek the Exile, the Orc, was a charming, dashing, and rather unimpressive lad whose vocal concerns about safety in the Horde’s army ranks had gotten him kicked out and forever branded a coward. All boasting rather sad origins, they in turn asked about Rhea’s party.

Rhea revealed as little as possible without outright lying. She was working on something big in the Badlands, and she wasn’t at liberty to say what--but it was going to change the world for the better, she hoped. Kas was her bodyguard--and her lover. Ye’tka was their friend, who knew quite a bit about alchemy and ‘babes’ himself. Atano was Ye’tka’s friend, an excellent hunter.

“Well,” Martek said, smiling at the group around him, “I hope we’ve given you some more happy memories to add to your collections.”

Here, here! his companions clamored, and all but Kas joined in. The human just quietly watched the fire. They all fell silent around him, watching him curiously.

Rhea squeezed his hand.

“Kas?”

He glanced at her finally, blinking and registering she was there.

“The closest I have to happy memories is sitting right here next to me.”

He smiled awkwardly at her, glancing back to the fire. Rhea blushed and squeezed his hand tighter.

“The most wounded on the battlefield are the ones who’ve lost everything but themselves,” Martek murmured softly. “But the difference between you and you--” he glanced over at Atano, “--is age. I’ve seen enough warriors to know; you lost family, a lover perhaps, as a man in the prime of your life.”

Atano gulped, then looked down to the fire.

“And I pity that. Not because I think you’re pitiful; because I’m truly sorry you did lose that.”

Atano nodded quietly, looking over at Kas again, cautious. The Gilnean was his prey, after all--but he was more than that. He was someone Atano knew, now.

“But you, friend,” Martek said, looking to Kas again, “lost your family as well, as a child far too young to lose your innocence.”

Kas looked up quietly at him.

“There are only so many eyes, in this world. Yours are blessedly rare--but any time I see them, my heart breaks for you. I can only offer a wonderful tale to make you smile, a good meal, and safe shelter for the night until you have to go.”

Theldurin and Lucien nodded softly, watching him too.

“That’d be more than enough,” Kas said softly. “That’s very kind of you. Thank you.”

Martek nodded softly. The fire crackled. The conversation slowly picked up again, and Rhea held Kas’s arm against her close. He smiled again, looking at her, and she returned it up at him, but she clung to him dearly, as if, when she had to let go, he might fall back into that darkness of sorrow and she would have no way left to pull him out.

Eventually, they fell tired with sleep, and laid down to rest for the night. Ye’tka moved closer to Atano. The three story-tellers slept close together. Rhea huddled up to Kas, petting his chest gently, thoughts racing as she rested against his shoulder. His large arm around her, she looked up at his face, lulled into a sweet abyss of rest.

She had quite enjoyed the night. She longed for the future where every night could be like this--simple and fun, with him, just enjoying life, perhaps a bit more alone as it wore on so that they could enjoy it more closely.

And yet…

If Deathwing came again to the Badlands, having learned of what she’d done, that future would fall to ashes and dust. Her plans would fall, her perfect egg would be cracked open mercilessly, and her beloved Human would die in vain trying to stop it.

Either that, or she would give up all the remaining years of her life to get it away safely… and leave him all alone again, cold and bitter in the cruelty of life.

She clung to him tighter, frowning, and by the next morning no one could tell that she had cried herself to sleep.


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Broderick and Lethrena plot, are discovered, and deal with it.

The Twilight party stopped against a cliffside to rest for the night as the sun fell. Aayani tended to the wounded, changing their bandages and reapplying useless salves and ointments to try and numb the pain and get rid of potential infection. The initiates/prisoners wandered aimlessly--no point chaining them down, and they knew it. One wrong move and their hearts burst.

After setting up tents with the remaining guards, Broderick moved into his to think and ponder over what was to be done next. Lethrena came in to speak with him--a regular occurrence, now, he thought. The guards may be suspicious--but then, what reason would they have? Broderick and Lethrena both had the highest reputations for their respective ranks; no one would dream that they were breaking their vows. It wasn’t at all uncommon for Twilight leaders and their second-in-commands spending the night close, conversing over strategies and new developments.

No reason at all to worry.

Koree sat huddled in one corner of the tent, hugging her knees. She had been silent after the new reagents had been dissected and gathered. Traumatized, perhaps. What a pathetic excuse for an “unfeeling” Titan artifact. Atano must have left quite a bit of himself inside her, changing her usual programming.

Lethrena sat down in his tent, making sure it was zipped up behind her. She smiled softly over at him where he lay thinking, moving over and lying down at his side.

“Hello.”

He broke from his musings, looking over at her and smiling, pulling her in against him. She purred, nestling her head against his shoulder.

“Eventful day,” he murmured.

“Mm.”

“Got some new recruits, made some very decent headway into the desert.”

“Mhmm.”

“We should get there tomorrow. I don’t know if we’ll be able to contact--Yrr’jaiish, was it?”

“Yes. Yrr’jaiish the Seer.”

“Aye. I don’t know if we’ll get to releasing it tomorrow.” He lowered his voice. “If we are, at all..?”

She purred and kissed his ear softly. “We are, yes.”

He raised a brow.

She smirked. “My vision wasn’t a typical one. Usually they are simply views of where you might be; you yourself are not a player in them. This one was different.”

“You saw yourself?”

“Yes. I was alone in the chamber; you’ll need to make sure we don’t get there fully, tomorrow.”

He frowned and nodded.

“I saw what I needed to do, step by step, hour by hour, to open the portal--using the right enchantments to forever bind Yrr’jaiish to our will.”

Broderick paused, looking down at her, cautious and suddenly quite tense. Old Gods were not “bound to someone’s will.” They were Masters; they subjugated everyone and everything else and whispered into their mind anything to advance their own plans.

“Lethrena…”

“Broderick, I know. I know it sounds like I’m being tricked. I made sure I knew the exact amounts of every single reagent needed. It would be absolutely a trick; the solution shown to me was diluted wrong. A stronger dose would’ve actually done it; the weaker one shown in the vision had just enough that it was convincing, but subtly wrong.

“Yrr’jaiish knows we’re coming; it knows you don’t want it getting out, else we’ll be in a world of consequences and pain. So it contacted me, trying to show me what I wanted; that power in my hands, but in a way that would destroy my will.”

Broderick nodded, frowning. If Lethrena had been contacted, then--

She leaned up, kissing his ear softly. “No, my love; I’m not in its possession.”

He blushed, looking into her eyes. She smiled, watching him. He searched for a long time, letting his feral side out slightly to gaze deep into his mate.

She was still herself.

He settled back, smiling, pulling her in tight. She purred sweetly and kissed his neck.

“What’s the plan, then? Admittedly, I’d rather not have to spend a lifetime worried that an Old God in our power might break its shackles.”

She blinked in faux-surprise. “You’re my leader, Broderick.”

He smiled, bemused. “And you’re the one who is far more knowledgeable about all forms of magic.”

She grinned, exposing those fangs again.

“We will stop near the entrance, tomorrow night. In the middle of the night, I will slip into the shadows, past the guards, and go there myself. I will summon it, chaining it, and putting its essence into that Titan Sentinel. Despite the orb’s weakness, when it encounters the Old God, it will attempt to destroy it, resulting either in its destruction--and Yrr’jaiish with it--or tapping into power to destroy Old Gods, which will be excellent, and we will set it free upon the ‘Masters.’ Either way, the Waygate goes silent, and we have the excellent setting for a trap, not only for our guards, but also your quarry, my love. They’ll come to us, wanting their precious Sentinel, and we’ll leave them lying forgotten in the dark depths of the earth.”

Outside the tent, someone scrambled quickly away.

Broderick got up fast, paling, reaching for his swords then pausing, the wolf growling. Lethrena had heard it too, going wide-eyed; despite her speaking almost in whispers, someone had heard.

He put a hand up to calm her. If they made any sudden movements, it would look even more suspicious. If they burst out now to kill their guards, there’d be no element of awe and surprise to help, like if they waited for the ambush at the Waygate. And, if the guards turned on them, they were sitting ducks.

“TWILIGHT!”

Broderick blinked, then relaxed with a slow sigh. The panicked voice was their Troll prisoner. Not one of the guards.

“TWILIGHT! Ya leaders! Dey plot against ya for their own romantic gain!”

There were murmurs through the camp, and Broderick relaxed even more, hearing sneers and scoffs of disgust from his troops. He glanced at Lethrena.

“Look presentable,” he murmured, then strode out of his tent as she quickly sat up, moving away from his usual spot.

“What is going on here?” he said coldly, back straight and gaze piercing.

Aayani glanced up at him from tending to Cieron’s hand. She rolled her eyes. “Some lunatic theory that you and Lady Goldenfire are trying to kill us, and that you’re a couple.”

Broderick raised a brow. Aayani snorted.

“I know; what a load of bullshit.”

Broderick turned back to the Troll, jaw tight with righteous malice.

“Ya look at me like I’m crazy!” the young Troll said, looking quite wild-eyed and crazy, “Listen, dammit! They’ll stop ya short of the entrance, tomorrow! The witch will go in; she trap da Old God in something, an’ when you get there, they’ll slaughter ya!”

“You can’t trap an Old God,” Lethrena said dryly, moving out of the tent, crossing her arms. “Even a base initiate would know better than to try such an asinine thing.”

“But you  _ will! _ ” the Troll said, voice raising high into hysteria. “ _ I HEARD ya! _ ”

“This is ridiculous,” Caeon said from his post at the head of the camp, guarding them all. Broderick pushed back the urge to smile; his greatest threat was still completely loyal.

“Aayani,” Broderick said dully while the Troll continued on, “I don’t suppose you want another wounded body to tend to?”

She snorted again, turning back to Cieron and his stump arm.

“All right.”

Broderick turned back to the Troll, advancing calmly. The Troll had his back turned, looking for anyone’s help. His former companions, the Tauren and the lady Orc, were watching, tense. Good. Let them watch.

The Troll turned again, noticing Broderick’s calm advance, spitting profanities at him. Broderick didn’t mind, moving in, closer, closer--

The Troll yelled and charged to try and tackle him--

Broderick slipped his short-sword from its sheath, impaling the larger man. He spluttered up crimson, flailing, wide-eyed, and Broderick made no attempt to throw him off. Blood-stains could easily be washed.

“Lesson number one, to our new recruits.” He looked to the Troll’s companions. The Tauren looked shocked and almost as if he were going to cry. Pathetic. The Orc had a better fury and anguish in her gaze--delicious.

“Your superiors do not care about you. You will  _ earn _ their respect, and their trust, with loyalty and pain.”

He twisted the short-sword, and the Troll made a choked gurgling noise that Broderick smiled at. He had gotten the right spot; always a wonderful thing. The Troll fell to the dusty earth, spasming, and Broderick followed him down, humming softly, carving open a hole in his chest to extract reagents from the soon-to-be corpse.

“If you are given a command, you follow it. Regardless of what consequences befall you. Case and point: one of the tests awaiting you will be an instructor telling you to attack them. You do so without hesitation--and the proper etiquette before-hand, of course, to show your respect--and you pass with only a few bruises and broken bones to be healed. You refuse, take too long in confusion, or simply do so without any sort of bow before, and you die.”

Broderick cleared his throat, pulling out the Troll’s spleen. “Caeon, would you mind please bringing over the jars for these?”

Caeon bowed. “Yes, my Lord.” He dutifully came over, kneeling and opening jars, holding them for Broderick to fill.

Broderick continued his work, the Troll twitching.

“I’m telling you two this, because you both will die long before that test. Neither of you have what it takes to become Twilight. You’re weak; angry; tied down to life. But, we do not have the extra jars to readily extract all we could, from you, and it’s wasteful to leave corpses behind when they still have some goods on them.

“And, optimistic as it sounds, you two might change against my judgments and become perfect Cultists. What do I know?”

He turned back to his work, humming. The vivisection was something Broderick had been a master of; the Troll would be alive for some time, yet.

The Troll spluttered up more blood, managing to gasp out words.

“Ya-- guards-- inferior-- ya say-- yourself-- you don’t-- care about--”

Broderick chuckled softly. “Did I say I didn’t care for my guards?”

He looked up. “Do you all think I don’t care for you?”

The guards blinked then shook their heads no.

Broderick looked back to the Troll with a pleasant smile, extracting more of his wet innards. “Dear fool--my guards are not my inferiors. If anything, I am, perhaps, theirs. They are the elite of the greatest Twilight camp in this continent; they’ve done far more than I ever will, and I have nothing but the utmost respect for each and every one of them. They know, on every mission, there’s the possibility of injury, pain, and death; as there is for myself and my second. I would not dare harm them; I wouldn’t stand a chance.”

He smiled politely and continued, letting the Troll spasm and splutter blood. Caeon watched him with admiration, continuing to help. The guards smiled likewise, watching their leader. Lethrena smiled, watching her mate, then ducked back into the tent to sit and wait.

Broderick did respect his guards. He held them all in the highest esteem.

And when the time came, he would kill every single one for her.


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rakan, the Twilight's Orc prisoner, approaches a guard as a last hope of survival. Kas and Rhea get to camp and have a quiet night together.

The remaining hours of the night passed without incident.

The next day was full of travel, and the dichotomy seemed indicative of some children’s tale of morality. Rhea’s party, with their sincerely selfless mission, passed the day in good humor, bidding farewell to the storytellers and heading off and away, west for an encampment of Dwarves Ye’tka had mentioned seeing near the mouth of the tunnel down to the Orb and the Waygate.

Broderick’s party, meanwhile, with their wholeheartedly selfish nihilism and lust, made little progress despite the clear advantage. For one thing, they had wounded. For another, their new recruits were sullen, fearful, and antagonistic. In a perfect world, Broderick thought to himself, lightning would blast away their injured and dejected.

The more harrowing thing, however, which dampened even the devotion of the guards, was the death of their warrior, Regis, that morning.

Cieron had noticed it first. How could he not have; the injured were placed together for the night. He was closest to the Dwarf, and so, when Broderick woke, it was to the yelping from the handless Blood Elf that Regis wasn’t breathing. Lethrena snorted awake next to him, pushing the hair from her face and drawing her robe back around her tender body, and Broderick left his tent all business to face the day.

Aayani, despite her efforts, could not pull the dead back, and remained distraught throughout the day. Regis had been a man of jovially dark humor--they had all appreciated him around. And, despite her not being the one to kill him, Broderick imagined she felt responsible that he had still died. Whether of blood loss in general or--as Broderick thought was more the case--drowning on it in his sleep, the fact remained that their comrade was gone. They were all solemn, but Broderick could not help feeling sorrow for their Draenei priestess; killing her would have to be Lethrena’s job, to ensure it went smoothly. It was such a pity Aayani had to die as well.

Broderick hadn’t been lying; they were out of jars for reagents. If they hadn’t been, Regis would have been taken apart as well--but, as it stood, they had nowhere to put him, and were not going to lay him to waste away for carrion birds. So, Kajshara--a night elf man, the quietest of the group and, in Broderick’s opinion, the easiest to kill--volunteered to take him along. They lost a good half-hour strapping Regis’s limp body along Kajshara’s back and putting away all of his possessions into their bags.

Despite hard walking all day long and Lethrena’s direction, by mid-day it became apparent they weren’t going to reach the Waygate by that night. They’d be close--and as the stars fell once again over the land, Broderick, seething that their time had been eaten away, quietly helped out around camp, setting up their tents, rationing out meals, working with his guards on a plan for the next day. As Lethrena was the only one who had seen the Waygate and the God beyond, she was referred to throughout the discussions, but as the night wore on, her suggestions, wonderfully wise as they were, fell into the cyclical pattern of educated-guesswork. She could only tell them what would happen potentially and raise scenarios.

Eventually, dejected and unhappy, Broderick went to his tent to sleep. An extra blanket had been draped over it for insulation, dampening down the light from the campfire coming in. Lethrena stayed an hour or so longer with the guards, speaking with them of more potentials, but finally made her way to Broderick’s tent as well, clearing her throat and asking if he wanted to speak with her at all that night.

He did, and she entered, zipping up the tent’s entrance behind her. The guards continued their clamoring, aware of her proximity to her leader, but respecting them both to think nothing of it. Nor did they mind that she would not come out until morning.

Rakan, their Orc prisoner, minded very much.

Taros, her large bull friend, was sleeping. He’d been forlorn throughout the day, quiet and unlike his usually chipper self. For all her band of rogues, she thought, Taros had been the one that didn’t fit in the most; he was simply a wandering Tauren, not wanting to comply with being a Brave so he fell in with them as entertainment.

And here he was, afraid to die and afraid of living like this.

Look where she’d led him.

She sighed softly. She didn’t care if she died; she had little left to live for in the world, but she didn’t want the injustice these heathens would heap upon her companion. Especially when they’d killed Nuja for speaking the truth. The acolytes might be blind, but it was more than obvious to her that this “Broderick” spent his nights mating that Blood Elf witch.

She stayed quiet throughout the night as the guards took turns sleeping. Of all of them, she thought, there was one who was the most different. One who might have some sympathy to her plight. One who, even if unsympathetic, was just so different from his brethren that it might work to get in good contact with him.

When Caeon was the only guard awake, she stood up, stretching with a yawn.

He glanced over absentmindedly at her. She made sure she showed off her chest during her stretch, the old leather armor coming up to expose her belly. She hated herself for such techniques, but they were effective, and she was desperate. When she glanced his way again, “accidentally,” afterwards, he was still watching her silently. Good.

She moved over to him. He remained impassive, but tense, quiet. Trained. Her heart ricocheted in her.

“Pleasant night,” she said  softly, not needing to act at all to seem timid around him.

No response whatsoever from his glowing eyes.

“You could at least  _ try _ and be personable.” She looked around, up at the vaults of the sky. They were so beautiful, above her.

“Pleasant is subjective,” he said quietly. She glanced back at him.

“Your name’s ‘Caeon,’ right? Mine’s Rakan. The bull over there’s Taros.”

Not even a blink in the cold night wind.

“So--uh, since we’re the one’s up--might as well keep each other company, I guess. How’d you get… how’d you get mixed up in all this?”

“Does it matter?” he said, quiet and calm and still. “I’m here.”

“Of course it matters,” she said quietly. “Everything matters.”

“Perhaps nothing matters,” Caeon replied, watching her unflinchingly.

“If nothing matters, why are you so devout?”

His eyebrow twitched upward a moment. Her heart pounded. She got him.

He stood slowly, and she wished to the Gods she could’ve moved away from him. He seemed far taller than she remembered; an imposing shadow in the night. But if she was to survive--if Taros was to survive--she needed to press this offensive.

“You treat your commander like royalty. You speak and move like every moment is being judged, despite your status as a guard. You’re tense and cautious because this matters deeply to you, but quiet enough that the others don’t notice.”

Caeon’s eyes narrowed slowly, cold, deadly. She gulped, voice low so only he could hear.

“It makes me wonder who you are, elf. If you’re one of truly one of them.”

Caeon slipped a blade from the sleeve of his robe subtly. It glinted in the moonlight, and her eyes widened. She shivered hard then steeled herself. What he did now would determine her mortality. She could always duck back and try and disarm him--

“Be quiet and try not to move your lips,” he said. She blinked, registering that he’d thrown his voice and his mouth seemed to remain shut. “Imagine that we’re always being watched, out here.”

“Of course I’m one of them, you brat,” he said clearly, lips moving perfectly.

Rakan looked down, blushing lightly as a wave of fear ran through her. Who could be watching out here? She knew how to throw her own voice, at least--it made for excellent skill, in being a rogue.

“I don’t care much what happens to me,” she said, the only indication she spoke being a light movement in her throat. “But please--my Tauren companion--”

“I cannot vouch for either of you. Just be smart and maybe you’ll survive.”

Rakan frowned slightly, glancing at him again. “Who  _ are _ you?”

Caeon’s eyes narrowed. “If you ever know, it means I haven’t done my job well enough.”

She blinked, then looked away out at the desert. “You infiltrated the Twilight?”

No reply--she took that as a yes.

“Worked your way up to be an elite guard?”

“Took his place. The eyes watching us aren’t directed at me. They won’t see past the guise.”

She gulped and shivered, drawing her thin clothing around herself in the winds.

“Who’s watching?”

“One of the Twilight Masters. Monitoring Broderick, especially, and probably Lethrena too.”

Rakan glanced at their dark tent, cold fury slashing through her gaze.

“They’re fucking like rabbits.”

“Of course they are. I can smell the stench of their sweat every morning. The others are blind fools; the Master is not.”

“Nuja said that Blood Elf witch had a way to trap the Master.”

“I don’t think that’s possible. If it is, it’s problematic for us, but whatever happens to them, it’s not my concern. There’s nothing I could do, either way. I can’t have my cover here blown, or I’m out of a job and possibly a life. I’m just here to report. Therefore--” His gaze narrowed further, piercing, seething. “--if you even draw breath with that thought on your lips, rest assured I will silence you quickly.”

Rakan gulped and nodded.

Caeon gazed out at the desert and sighed tiredly. “That said, I will do what I can to bring you to Twilight camps myself and guide you to safety. The enchantment’s mine to control; if you live or die, and I won’t kill you or your friend unless you do something truly asinine. Don’t even communicate this to him.”

She nodded again, ever so slight.

A smirk moved over the Night Elf’s face. “By that time we get back, they’ll probably discover the real Caeon Nightwing’s corpse.”

He hummed to himself softly then turned to her, austere and terrible. His lips moved, and his voice rung out coldly, loud enough to reach her and yet not wake anyone else: “If you need to relieve yourself, woman, do so already and leave me be. I wish for no distractions while on duty.”

Rakan’s face burned and she spat at him, a wave of shame scarring her features at the thought of going where he might still gaze upon her. She drifted back to her Tauren companion, huddling up to him for warmth, but against his fur her heart raced and she suddenly found herself in the dangerous throngs of hope.

<*>                    <*>                    <*>

Earlier that evening, Rheastrasza had the wonderful luck to arrive at her destination with daylight to spare. True, the sun was setting, casting a soft pink glow over the desert rocks, but it made the sight of the bustling Dwarves and Humans all the more brilliant, and it meant too that their arrival would not be completely hailed as an attack over the quiet hours of the night. The Twilight still had ground on them, but they would reach their destination tomorrow--same as Broderick Redmane.

The guards hailed Rhea with the utmost respect, and the others in camp, who seemed to Kas to be soldiers in plain clothing, saluted her as she passed through them.

“Do they know?” he murmured to her as softly as he could.

She glanced back at him. “Only enough to know that what you’re holding is precious cargo indeed, Kas.”

He nodded, tense under the gaze of so many people.

There were, among the ranks, Gilneans, watching him perturbed. He made no move to assure their fears were justified—not displace them.

Among the crowd, there waddled forth a very small familiar figure.

Dr. Hieronymus Blam grinned up at them. “Hello again! I was wondering when you slow-pokes would get here; I’ve got everything all set up for a full day and a half now and these tall gits keeping asking me about it.”

The crowd around grumbled bemusedly and Dr. Blam stuck his tongue out at them. Rhea’s party watched the Gnome uneasily. He’d covered the distance they’d walked for days with no time passing at all… on his stumpy little legs?

“Oh, don’t give me those fish eyes, you lot--” he said, putting his hands on his hips. “I got those savages in Fuselight to rig up their teleporter to deposit me here. They said it couldn’t be done with specificity; HA! Once I got ahold of their primitive technology, it was more than doable for a capable engineer.”

Ye’tka crossed his arms.

“Ya mean to tell us, mon, that we could’ve spared ourselves the time and trouble journeyin’ here to just teleport?”

Dr. Blam blinked up at them with his fishbowl eyes then shook his head vigorously, white mustache bouncing about.

“It took four hours to hard-sync it to my biology for a one-way trip. Imagine trying to hard-sync it to each of yours! AND hard-sync that!” The Gnome gestured at the sack Kas had over his shoulder, then grew suddenly very serious.

“As it is--I’ll take that off your hands, now.” His voice lowered so that only Rhea and Kas, standing closest, could barely make it out. “Now that it’s pure, we need to get it incubated, which I’ve set up the accesses to, Rhea; and we need to hide it away quickly. From the reports I’ve been getting, there are lots of angry Dragons looking for this.”

His gaze brightened. “It’s good to see you all, by the way! Even you!” He pointed up at Atano, who replied with nothing.

Dr. Blam turned and trotted through the camp to a tent, and Rhea and Kas followed. Ye’tka and Atano started along as well, but one of Ye’tka’s spirits fluttered around his ear that it’d be best if they didn’t see those secrets, and so the Troll stopped, taking Atano’s hand to stop him as well. The Tauren did indeed pause, and Ye’tka quickly dropped his hand, looking off through camp then wandering away to find food before anything could be said.

Dr. Blam showed them into a large tent, which Kas immediately realized was sectioned off by a convincing tarp midway through to appear as though it was smaller inside. Dr. Blam moved the tarp subtly aside, and Rhea and Kas stepped through to find a smaller teleporter set up, specifically egg-sized.

“It’s set to the coordinates of the Vermillion Redoubt, as you requested. I’m just waiting for Lady Corastrasza to contact me with the go-ahead.”

Dr. Blam looked up at Kas.

“Set it down; it’ll be safe here. I’ve set up plenty of defenses.”

Kas glanced at Rhea. She nodded, and so he carefully set the sack down. Rhea took his hand, squeezing it.

“Give us a moment, alone?”

Kas glanced between the two shorter figures, then nodded calmly and went outside. A few minutes later, Rhea came out, looking tired but smiling up at him once she saw him.

“In our haste,” she murmured, “to escape from Lethlor Ravine, I did not tie up one loose end. Nyxondra. The Black Dragonness I subdued to breed these special eggs. She’s apparently sounded the alarm among the Black Dragonflight. Half the flight is here, in the Badlands, combing for that egg.”

Kas listened, looking out at the dusk falling slowly over the sands.

“Hiero’s going to take care of hiding the egg. It’s not going to be safe, just waiting here. I recommended a spot here that’s secure; he’s going to go tonight. And before you ask, no, you’re not going with. Anyone searching knows me; they wouldn’t know him, even if they found him. And I want you by my side.”

Rhea let out a long breath, looking out at the desert with him.

“After we find our missing Titan Sentinel, and the egg is safe, we’re getting out of here. And whatever Black Dragons we come across first, we aren’t going to let live.”

She suddenly smiled, looking up at him.

“And, we’ll have the help of this camp. We’ve got at least those three who’ve volunteered to go Dragon-hunting.”

Rhea gestured over to a trio of portly Dwarves with wondrously colorful helmets and beards down to the ground. Whatever Kas thought of them, he kept to himself, only nodding.

The dark set in over the camp, and there was nothing more for them to do that day.

After supper, which was surprisingly good food and company, Rhea retired to a tent that had been set up specifically for her near Hiero’s, guarded by many others in the camp. Without any words, she had pulled Kas by the hand along, and once the tent was closed to the outside and the light was dim and sweet around them, she let go of his hand.

“Kas?”

“Yes, Rhea?”

“Would you help me out of my robe? It clasps, in back…”

He grew quiet, and she knew he was blushing. Dutifully, he knelt down, and his fingers glided along her back, catching the clasp and undoing it. She purred softly, glancing over her shoulder.

“Take off your armor, Kas.”

“Rhea?”

She smirked, giving him no answer. They had a cot on the dirt, which, though dusty, was covered with many large furs. No point being anything but uncomfortable, under it.

Her smile widened as she heard him rustling behind her, then the organization of armor. She undid the cord around her waist then slipped the robe down off her shoulders, loosening it enough to pull over her head and off fully.

She folded her garments and stood again, stretching, looking up at him. He stood awkwardly in his underwear, eyes averted. Rhea chuckled and undid the wrapping around her breasts, releasing them from the pressure of constraints.

“Kas.”

He glanced at her, eyes widening slightly in the dark. There was just enough light to outline her beautifully, and she purred just for him before turning and lying down on the cot.

“Come to bed.”

He gulped and moved to her, kneeling then lying down on his back next to her. She pulled the furs over them, curling in at his side close and hot. Her soft hair fell along his strong chest, and her arm held his chest closer to her skin.

“You’re very tense, Kas…”

Kas cleared his throat. “Oh?”

Rhea giggled and kissed his chest, settling back against him and letting out a sigh.

“This feels good,” she murmured, draping a leg over his slowly.

He gulped again. “Aye.”

She looked up at him in the almost blackened tent, able to see his features perfectly still. Beautiful fiery hair, his beard well-kept, body scarred and firm and, like all the rest of him, loyally hers. Her small hand moved along his neck and up to his cheek, turning his face to her.

“Kas.”

He looked at her as best as he could, though she wasn’t as visible, to him, as he was to her.

“Rhea?”

He hugged her closer to his side. She purred, leaning up close to his face.

“I love you.”

He kissed her tenderly, lips coarse in the heat and fury of his life but passion soft and tender enough that she feared she’d melt away in his embrace.

“I love you too,” he murmured, and she kissed him again softly. He didn’t need to tell her anything for her to know that he’d never said that to anyone else, besides maybe his sister and mother.

How long it lasted was lost to an elation of contact, but finally she settled again at his side, nuzzling him. The thought came into her mind that Hiero was going out to deal with the contingency plan--the egg--

She pushed it away and hugged him closer.

“Kas?”

“Mm?”

He sounded dazed. She bit back a giggle; she still had it.

“What kind of home do you want?”

There was a pause, and he shifted around to look at her, propping his head up on one arm.

“What do you mean?”

She glanced up at him, fingers absentmindedly playing over his chest.

“Well, once we’re out of this abysmal desert, I’m going to take you home with me, back to Wyrmrest Temple in Dragonblight, Northrend. I have a set of rooms there, to do experiments, but I could clear those instruments to the side for-- whatever you might like. Painting supplies and canvasses?”

He smiled softly, other arm still around her, petting her side.

“Well, I can’t ask you to shift about your life’s work for me.”

She smirked. “Right answer! But-- really; any commodities I can order now to be there when we get there?”

Kas blinked then shrugged. “I’ve never-- had the luxury to think of creature comforts.”

“Fair enough.” Rhea hummed softly. “I was just thinking, Kas--what our room could look like. Big comfortable bed draped in red sheets, soft and fluffy. Your paintings of us and anything else you’d like to paint along the walls. A harp, perhaps? I’ve always loved the sounds that instrument makes. A lab in another room, still decorated with your paintings so there’s nowhere I go that I’m not reminded of you.”

Kas purred, soft, eyes shutting, imagining it. Rhea opened her mouth then paused, blushing hard and letting her face succumb to a wry grin.

“A few little ones around us asking their parents when we’ll be up to make breakfast?”

Kas opened his eyes, blinking, blushing hard back. She giggled and nuzzled his side.

“I’m just teasing you, Kas.”

He was still quiet a long moment, and she paused, glancing up at him, afraid she’d said something wrong. He looked thoughtful.

“What?”

He turned to her, looking all at once very vulnerable. “I’ve never thought about if I wanted kids before.”

She blinked up at him and felt a rush of heat inside her. She pushed it back fiercely, not wanting to push his limits, and leaned up, kissing his neck softly.

“Once we’re out of here, we can… think about it? You can think about it. I-- I am, and will always be, a mother, even if my young are gone. I’ll always have those motherly instincts--and, as much as they can be a pain sometimes, I must say I  _ am _ partial to little ones.”

Kas nodded shyly.

Rhea held him closer. “Once we’re out of here, we have all the time in the world, and many, many possibilities to explore.”

Kas let his head down, hugging her close with both arms. “I never want to leave your side, Rhea. Whatever happens, no matter what, as long as I’m with you, I feel like it’ll all be all right.”

Rheastrasza gripped him close, and not soon after, Kaskaeld Remor fell asleep. She stayed awake a long, quiet hour, listening to the winds outside, knowing that somewhere out there, the Black Dragonflight was coming for her. Somewhere out there, perhaps, Deathwing himself was.

Whatever the future brought, Kaskaeld would be in it, with her. Unless or until that contingency plan would be called upon, and she would have to break the fragile heart of one she loved deeper than she had anyone in centuries.

She shut her eyes, taking a long breath, and tried to push the future away. She was there with him. He was strong and warm. She loved him; he loved her.

In this moment, that was all that mattered.


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kas and Atano, stuck on a hunting trip together, lock horns.

Dawn broke over the desert after the pleasant night’s rest. Something in the air was different--and Rhea could feel it. Curled up next to her bodyguard, listening to the camp start to bustle back to life, there was an odd quality to the world around her. It wasn’t anything she seemed to place; it wasn’t an odor, or the sounds the winds carried to her tent. It certainly wasn’t what she saw, as all she saw was Kas, starting to blink awake and yawn blearily. It was a feeling, quiet, deep in her chest beyond where she was comfortable traveling.

There was something ending. She didn’t know what, yet, but something was ending today. Something very, very important in her life--something critical. This was its last day.

She prayed quietly that it was simply her mission here in the Badlands, and that tomorrow she’d be waking in her bed in Wyrmrest with Kas just as close.

The human sat up, careful of her, stretching and wincing and groggy. Rhea moved back, watching him, a smile coming to mind thinking that his sleep was probably the best it had been since his childhood. He certainly carried, for once, the quality of a man well-rested.

There was a voice outside their tent, deep and heavily-accented. “Not ta break yer rest, Lady Rhea, but yer puppy dog is requested fer huntin’!”

Rhea grinned wickedly. Kas raised a brow, glancing at her.

“I do believe I told you about our volunteers? Dwarves have many wondrous qualities, but of the ones I’ve met, patience seems to not be one of them.”

Kas shook his head bemusedly and got up, dressing. Rhea watched from the comfort of the furs, making no move to join him. He glanced back at her, waiting. She cleared her throat.

“I’m going to speak to Hiero about the egg.”

He nodded and redoubled his efforts to dress quickly. It didn’t take him long, and he got to the tent flaps--

Rhea cleared her throat again, louder and more annoyed.

Kas glanced back at her. She wore a very bemused smile, then motioned him over with a finger. He dutifully went to her, kneeling down.

She propped herself up and kissed him, soft and sweet, breaking away with a smirk and a murmur of “My puppy~” before he blushed and moved out of the tent just as she knew he would. She laid back, chuckling, and tried not to let her smile subside as thoughts of what might happen today rushed in.

Outside, Kas donned his white hood again, letting the fabric cover his nose and mouth, leaving only his brown eyes revealed to the sands. He jogged down the sloped hill to the main base of camp, where a makeshift innkeeper was handing out bread and soup for breakfast. The innkeeper, seeing Kas, stopped, until one of the others there called for him by name.

In retrospect, Kas thought silently, it’s a bemusing sight; Ivan Zypher, one of Gilneas’s Innkeepers--he’d run a small pub on the outskirts of the city called “The Innocent Doe,” and Kas had been there a few times on business--who had been bitten and was afflicted with the Worgen curse, now standing a lumbering eight-foot wolf-man with jaws and claws like a sociopathic hunter’s bear traps, stopped in fright over a man so much shorter than him and exceedingly less bulky.

Then again, Kas had a wolf--

He shook his head once. Kell’s potions had done wonders to suppress his feral side, but he hadn’t been allowed the Druid’s gifts to fully control the beast until much later than normal Gilneans. He hadn’t allowed himself to turn for months; if he did, it must be a pent-up, howling, savage--

Kas took a deep breath and let it out quietly. No man knows the beast in themselves until they’ve stared it down face to face and seen what it could do. And he had not yet seen what his could do.

“Yer the Gilnean we’ve been waitin’ for?”

Kas glanced down by his hip. A stout, square man stood there, speaking through a fluff of bright orange beard. His silver helmet was horned, though it looked like it could use a good cleaning to get all the sand off.

“It’s about time ye got here, ye tall maniac! My legs could use the stretchin’ now that they’ve been cramped to Hell’n’back! Come on, boys--” the Dwarf said, looking excitedly to his two brothers of similar long-bearded complexion-- “--let’s go kill us some Black Dragons!”

“Eric, ye great blimp,” the smallest of the trio said with a huff, “slow down an’ introduce us to the man!”

Eric stopped, blinking incredulously. “Did ye call me a ‘blimp,’ Baelog?”

Baelog shrugged. “Got yer attention, didn’ I?”

The third one, the tallest of the three, chuckled, finishing his food, motioning for Ivan to give Kas a bowl. With much trepidation, Ivan came over, handing Kas a portion of breakfast then skirting away quickly again.

Eric cleared his throat. “S’pose introductions should be in order, since yer fightin’ with us, aye. An’ I should be tellin’ ye too how me an’ me brothers here fight, because we’ve got ourselves a system and it won’t do any good if yer too perplexed by it on the battlefield and a great big Dragon comes and eats ya!”

“I doubt that’d be a problem,” a deep voice said from behind Kas. He didn’t need to turn to know it was Atano, up and eating his own breakfast, sharing it with his tallstrider, Ye’tka next to him eating as well.

Eric blinked, then shook his head. “Anyhow, regardless of interruption--I’m Eric, as ye’ve heard. ‘The Swift’ is what they call me, and here’s why: I’ll dash straight into your enemies--helmet first, mind you--and stun ‘em for a few seconds. I also keep a few potions on me for any tight spots!”

Eric looked to his brothers, and Baelog took up the litany:

“I’m Baelog, the muscle of this group. My sword bites like a crocolisk, an’ my arrows sing like banshees. I, ah, tend to wear down a bit quicker though; I can’t take as much as my brothers, I’m afraid. I’m a bit short, ye see. But, I make up fer that by cheerin’ loud and inspiring my brothers on to frenzies!”

The other two clamored in agreement. Baelog, the small, turned to the third one, the tall, and he cleared his throat and said:

“I’m Olaf. And you, Gilnean sir, may not have noticed, but I’m monumentally tall fer a Dwarven lad. I make sure that my two brothers don’ get inta too much trouble. They’re small fellas, and they don’t have a big shield like me. I’m big, and I can handle a few monsters hitting me! Plus, if I’m careful, I can usually get ‘em to hit my shield instead!”

The three looked up at Kas expectantly. Kas said nothing. Eric finally cleared his throat and grinned under the fur rug on his chin.

“If yer worried, lad, ye don’t have to be. We’ll keep you safe out there!”

“He’s about as worried as I am,” Atano said, standing and loading a rifle. Kas glanced at it, hearing the noise, noting the Dwarven structure, different from his last. One he picked up here, most likely.

Eric grinned. “Oh aye? You’re a fighter then, Gilnean?”

“You’re coming with?” Kas asked quietly, gaze piercing Atano’s. The Tauren stared him down calmly.

“That a problem?”

“Are you going to make it one?”

A smile flickered along the bull’s face then he shook his head slowly, once, purposeful. Kas narrowed his eyes and looked back to the Dwarves.

"All due respect, lads, but I neither want nor need your help. I’ve got my own way of doing things; being in a crowd, visible, is about as opposite as it gets, for me.”

“Tough! Yer stuck with us.” Eric grinned and folded his arms.

“They’re adamant on defending the camp,” Atano said calmly, “and we’re the added muscle to help them.”

Kas turned back to the Tauren coldly. “And do they have a bounty on their heads you’re trying to collect?”

“Kas…” Ye’tka grumbled up sleepily from his seat.

“Am I wrong to be leery about you, Atano Tantoren?” Kas said, quiet and seething.

Atano watched him with polite disinterest. “Not in the slightest. Nor have I any reason to be relaxed around you; you may stab me dead when my back is turned, or leave me to die under the broiling heat miles from anywhere, out here. But you won’t, because I likewise won’t, because there’s more going on around us than our fighting and once all that’s resolved, then we can go at each other’s throats. Like rabid wolves, eh, Gilnean?”

Kas held his gaze then let it go, looking at the shaman. The camp around was silent, watching them.

“You coming too?”

Ye’tka shook his head, eating ravenously.

Kas scowled up at Atano again, but Rhea’s soft “ahem” made them all turn. The Goblin woman was standing pretty in her robe, watching the Tauren hunter quite calmly. Her gaze said it all. Atano shifted, pierced by it, and nodded once, shoulders breaking under her ferocity.

One of the women in camp, a rather pale human with jet black hair and a few scraps of armor on to keep her modest, waved for Kas to come over. The rogue raised a brow, but the Dwarves, Eric especially, pushed him over at once. She evidently held some importance to the camp.

The woman set down a large sword she’d been running a whetstone over and held out her hand. “Victoria Dolen, Chief of Security here.”

Kas looked at the hand a moment then back up at her.

She lowered it, not seeming much to care, though her tone got noticeably crisper around the edges of her words. “Dragon’s Mouth camp here was established to give the Alliance their first real foothold in the Badlands. Despite this desert’s position between Stormwind and Dun Morogh, it’s traditionally been Horde territory.”

Victoria paused, glancing over at Ye’tka, who was politely wiping his mouth and tusks. The Troll glanced back at her, blinking.

“Don’ look at me; I’m not Warchief.”

She raised a brow and looked back to Kas. “As he’s one of Rhea’s party, I won’t have him killed. Nor you, ‘Ghost of Gilneas.’”

Ivan shuddered. Kas said nothing.

“If the territory is ever to change, we need to start asserting ourselves. The Black Dragonflight here may work in our favor, if they attack Horde battalions, but first and foremost, they’ve taken up space in our hunting grounds. We need supplies, and badly. Food, cloth; anything. I don’t like being half-naked in front of everyone, for what it’s worth.”

The camp politely looked the other way at the heated dunes.

“You may be able to solve that problem and another one at the same time, for us. Dragons are one thing--we’ve also been wary of Ogre clans. There’s one, disgustingly named ‘Dustbelchers’ that have taken up residence in a small cave southwest of here. They should have exactly what we need: meat, crafting supplies. They’ve been actively watching our camp; before you go out Dragon-hunting, go deal with them, please, and salvage whatever you can.”

A man with spiked-up hair and sunglasses came over, murmuring something in her ear. Victoria smiled and nodded. He paused, looking at Kas. Kas raised a brow.

“And who are you?” Kas said.

“Jake Badlands,” he said, adjusting his sunglasses. “Flightmaster.”

“Of course you are.”

“Are you waiting for nightfall, sir Rogue?” Victoria said, crossing her arms. Kas shook his head slightly, turned, and with a last look at Rhea, moved out of camp with his small hunting party.

Rhea watched him go with a light, soft smile. He’d be fine. Still, her lips moved silently, murmuring an old prayer she’d long since forgotten.

<*>                    <*>                    <*>

The assault on the Ogre camp could only be described as a bloodbath.

Kas himself did not harm many--only the lumbering few that did their best to cave in his head with their clubs--but Atano took no issue with blowing holes through them, and the Dwarves with causing numerous injuries and taking great pride in keeping a running tally of who had the most incapacitated. Kas focused on collecting what meats they’d stored and what cloths they’d had draped about. Both needed to be cleaned desperately.

When it was finally done, they weaved their way back to camp. The Dwarves were good-naturedly belligerent that the numbers had to be wrong, and that Baelog simply couldn’t have taken the most out, though the small man was nonetheless astutely congratulating himself.

“The enemies weren’t difficult,” Kaskaeld said quietly. “There’s no reason to take pride in their destruction.”

The Dwarves ceased to look at him. Atano scoffed, the rifle slung over his shoulder having a nice weight to it--and so easy to take off and point--

“They still outnumbered us plenty,” the Tauren said, petting the bird at his side. “It’s cause enough to celebrate.”

“And what are we celebrating, hunter?”

“Victory, rogue.”

“What constitutes ‘victory?’” Kas said, stopping, looking at the large bull man.

Atano stopped as well, as did the Dwarves. “‘Victory’ is constituted thusly: you’re alive. You’ve got what you want. Your prey may not be, and your prey doesn’t.”

“Are living beings just ‘prey,’ then?”

Atano chuckled, looking out at the desert, then back to Kas. “When did you start caring?”

“I always did.”

"Really?” The Tauren laughed. “Don’t get high and mighty, Kaskaeld—you’ve done far worse than I have.”

“It’s not about what you or I’ve done, you cow.” Kas said, seethingly quiet. “It’s about what you see when you close your eyes. What you hear when you’re completely alone. How you wake up from your slumbers. If I don’t fully scream myself awake, I’m at least in a cold sweat—because I’ve had nothing and no one to comfort me until now. I’ve faced what I’ve done; I’m coming to terms with it; I’m trying to be better. But you have that therapy bird, and I wager anytime your dreams bother you, you just wake up, look at it, and pat yourself on the back—because if it’s still alive and well-cared for, then there’s something decent left in you. And when it dies, and you’re faced with all the weight you’ve turned away from, it’s going to break your spine.”

Atano’s eyes widened, and for once he looked truly perturbed. There was silence; he had no reply as Kas held his stare. The Gilnean rogue was right.

“We got our supplies, aye. We got safety for Dragon’s Mouth from Ogres. And they were a tribe trying to survive out here. Not a Dragonflight hunting down purity; not a race hellbent on genocide. Just other survivors. If I’ve got to get my blades wet, fine, but I damn well don’t want to hear any of you celebrating what we’ve done.”

Kas started on again quietly, laden down with stolen goods.

“Blimey,” Eric grumbled, “this was s’posed to just be a fun excursion with a chance of mild slaughterin’, nae a full heated bit of philosophizin’.”

“Aye,” Baelog and Olaf chorused balefully.

The Dwarves started too.

Atano watched a long moment, then glanced at his plainstrider. The bird chirped up at him affectionately, nuzzling his hip. He patted its head then started on after the others.


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Twilight find what they're looking for, but Ye'tka tries to stop them.

Morning had come with a harsh prod to the ribs for Rakan. Bad enough that she was the prisoner of these Twilight bastards, but she heard smirks and jeers from the remaining guards over her proximity to Taros. The Tauren had been warm to curl up to all night--and now he timidly walked with her. She did her best to comfort him, but the sneers of her captors made her blood boil.

One who hadn’t antagonized her, however, was “Caeon,” or whatever his name was. It was apparent now he was a spy--but for whom, she did not know. She couldn’t tell anyone, or he’d execute her--but he was the only one she could trust, now. It was horrible, to have to trust someone with your life.

Broderick and Lethrena made their way along with the pack. There was a great electricity in the air; they were nearing their goal, and everyone knew it. The Waygate that housed their corrupt Master was approaching fast, and once they got to it, Lethrena might well ensnare an Old God, though there were still doubts that she could. If anyone might, Rakan thought, somehow, that witch would. How the Twilight were blind to her selfishness, her ambition, Rakan didn’t know, but she still pulled the strings of her marionettes. Broderick was hers; his guards were his.

“Here.”

Her voice rung out through the desert lands. They hadn’t traveled very long, and suddenly the party stopped, quiet, expectant. Lethrena looked over the land, then pointed at an indent near the edge of the hill. Bits of stray sod poked out above it in a shelf, lonely green amidst a sea of tan.

Caeon and the guards got to work, digging. Taros and Rakan were pushed into it as well, and without gloves or tools, their hands scraped, dirtied, and ached.

The sun broiled down.

It was Broderick himself who finally broke through, striking down against the loose earth, feeling it shift and shudder under him then cave in, falling away to expose a deep, yawning hole of blackness in the ground. He stood, brushing off his hands, and smiled.

“Caeon.”

The Night Elf spy took the lead, descending into the void. The rest of the party followed, the rear comprised of Kajshara, still tied with Regis’s body, Cieron and his stump hand, and Aayani, her tail swishing wildly in excitement.

Down into the quiet, cool darkness they fell. The ground sloped unevenly, and they worked their way down in small increments. Up ahead, Caeon lit a torch, letting its light flicker and wander about the tunnel walls; smooth circular ways, roots poking down through the ceiling like clawing dead fingers.

Taros was hunched over, shivering. Rakan took his hand, squeezing it in a vain attempt to soothe her friend.

The ceiling tapered away, and finally they came out to a much larger hallway, stone-carved walls vaulting up into the hillside above. Even Rakan let her guard down, gasping at the magnificence around her. Carvings of star maps adorned the long-forgotten place, glittering along the stones around them. Constellations she’d seen in the night sky glittered of mythic heroes and giant monsters, and she almost could believe she was outside again, save the dusty, still air.

“Hold!”

Caeon’s voice from up ahead roused her from her reverie, and the whole party dutifully stopped, save Broderick and his second, who made their way forward.

“What’s the matter--?”

His question was cut off as he came upon the sight that Caeon had.

Ahead of them, lining the entire length of the hall, rock elementals stood guard, beings of boulder held together by a shaman’s magic. They weren’t dormant; their eyes flared in fury, watching the Twilight party.

Broderick’s eyes narrowed. There was no way someone could’ve beaten them here--

“How?” he asked quietly.

“The Troll shaman,” Lethrena said, her voice an odd quality--a mixture of cold wrath and admiration.

“He can’t be here,” Broderick seethed.

“He’s not,” his mate said quietly. “He’s being magnified by the Dragonness’s magic.”

From the middle of the line of elementals, Ye’tka Qoatoll’s visage stepped forth, translucent but harshly conscious. The Troll straightened his back, towering over even Taros, thin but a tremendous, imposing man.

“Turn back,” he said, voice a whisper echoing through the dead halls.

Broderick growled, a smile creeping onto his face. It had been a long while since he’d had to face elementals on his Twilight exams; they always proved a challenging kill. This was going to be good sport.

“Advance,” he said, unsheathing his swords.

The guards did as they were told, slow, looking fearlessly at the line of rock. Rakan glanced about; perhaps it was time to flee--but Aayani and Kajshara, holding the back line with daggers and vile stares, told her succinctly that she was still trapped.

Ye’tka’s image shimmered and more elementals sprung forth behind the initial line. Broderick roared, sprinting forward, tackling one head-on and slashing against the midsection where the boulders were connected. A FSSSSH! sounded, and for a moment he was disappointed that it’d be that easy--but the elemental tied itself back together, arcing a fist to slam down against him.

Lethrena stayed further back, watching the chaos, searching within it for the shaman boy himself. He was intriguing; so powerful and so guillibly loyal to the Dragonness. There was nothing Rhea could possibly offer that she herself couldn’t give tenfold, yet he refused to side with her. One way or another, she would have him, even if it meant keeping a chain firmly around his neck. Until that time, however, it was time for her to put him in his place…

The guards dodged strike after strike, and Caeon finally carved one in two, piercing the chest and destroying the elemental’s heart chakra. The pile of boulders shuddered and broke into a hundred pieces, dying away with a low pained moan, but there was no time for the guard to celebrate, as three more focused their efforts on him.

Broderick carved through one of his own, paused, then hit the floor as a wave of flame and electricity cracked through the air where his head had been. Beyond the line of stone fighters, Ye’tka stood planted in the ground, totems around him drawing power, the pull of the elements rushing over his hands. Broderick cursed--besides his mate, they had no real ranged attackers; and he didn’t want her in danger--though, if he refused to let her enter the fray, his guards might see something was wrong--

He scrambled back as an elemental brought one rock fist down into the floor he’d been lying against. It rushed forward, swinging for his head, and he ducked, stabbing his sword up firmly into the rocky chest. It shook and burst around the blade, but as Broderick turned the steel around to brandish it against another elemental, the firm weapon heaved and snapped, the assault against pure rock too much for it to handle.

“Shit--”

He darted back as two more advanced against him. One of his guards, a forgettably devout human that only went by the equally forgettable name Smith, was caught off-balance and thrown to the ground, the boulder-men pouring over him and crushing him. Broderick spat another curse, rolling towards the unfortunate Smith--not caring much that he reached out, pleading, before another bouldery fist sank into his chest--and grabbed the heavy cudgel he’d been using. Brute force against living stone.

With a defiant yell and a swing that would’ve broken even Dwarven architecture, Broderick smashed through the head of one of Smith’s assassins, sending the body careening off into the next oncoming wave. The other assailant rushed forward, only for Broderick to bring the cudgel up and over and down with all the force of his wrath upon its head, sending it fractured to the ground.

Broderick had enough time to glance at Smith, a dead pile of gore, before more rushed at him.

“You’re not going to win this, Troll,” Lethrena murmured, glancing over her mate’s predicament but lazily overlooking it. She had seen a vision of their future bliss; this was merely a waste of their time. Her gaze centered on her target again, and she could see now the arcane bindings Rheastrasza had cast over him to tether his energy down here. Good--if he was able to raise the elements physically here, then she could hit him physically here.

Ye’tka sent another bolt of fire and lightning crackling through the air at the Twilight guards, scattering them and forcing them to retreat a few paces as the waves of stone advanced. Broderick’s teeth were gritted as his blood rolled faster through his veins; no haughty shaman fool would keep him from his rightful fate!

Lethrena murmured low words, gathering her strength, shutting her eyes and concentrating. Shadowstepping was a talent she’d only heard of through books; it wasn’t one she’d practiced much, and certainly not the numerous yards she needed to get to Ye’tka. But with good concentration--

Broderick sent his cudgel up the middle of one boulder, feeling his muscles scream, killing the elemental but ferociously damaging his arms. If he knew anything about Titan discs, they could heal--

He quickly stepped back, hissing in pain and letting the cudgel fall. His right arm contracted and shook--his left hung completely limp, and bolts of pain from the tears writhed up him. He looked for Koree--

The AI, only visible to him, was huddled back against one wall of the cavern, watching the fight. She watched him with fear and loathing, and rightfully so. He’d made sure she’d worn nothing the past few days. His mate didn’t know; why should she? The Tauren wasn’t real; just a program, after all. But she felt quite real.

Aayani murmured prayers of healing, and light shot up around his arms, knitting back the muscles. He smiled appreciatively at the goat-woman, turning back to the fray, ducking under the swing of another elemental and rolling, grabbing the cudgel again, smashing it through the elemental’s body.

Of all his guards, Broderick had time to observe, Caeon had been the most adept in killing these stone bastards. The night elf twirled with vicious ferocity, blades a mad slash through their bodies as if there were nothing there. Without question, he’d have to die first when it came time to kill the guards, but until then—

Broderick brought the cudgel cracking down over the head of another, shattering it, adrenaline starting to give way to aching—

Ye’tka’s magic filled the expanse again as he sent the elements careening towards the guards. Broderick looked at the Troll again, spitting in anger; there were too many stone guardians to get to him—

And yet—

From behind him, a shadow was forming. Not his, but—

He glanced back at his mate only to find that she was gone. He looked back at Ye’tka as the Troll yelped and darted forward; Lethrena emerged behind him, her fierce dagger in hand, curving blade calling for blood—

She caught the Troll off-balance and pushed him down, quickly straddling him, pressing his arms down, cutting off a defiant spell by plunging her dagger into one shoulder. The Troll yelled in pain, and Lethrena murmured some low, slick word of power, tongue rolling as if in black oil, the elementals shuddering then falling dead.

Along the Troll’s body, webs of her dark magic expanded, keeping him tied there despite his—and Rhea’s, Broderick imagined—attempts to pull him back. Good.

Broderick moved over, dragging the cudgel, quickening his pace—

“Lethrena!”

She glanced at him then quickly moved off of the other man. Ye’tka started to reach up to grab the dagger—

Broderick brought the cudgel up and over and smashing down through one of the Troll shaman’s knees.

Ye’tka shrieked in agony, falling back and writhing, Lethrena’s webs moving over the rest of his torso, starting to harden and keep him down. Broderick threw the cudgel down. Ye’tka wasn’t going anywhere.

“Now then, you warty, green heathen,” Broderick said coldly, looking on at the writhing figure below him. “Since you know exactly where we are, let me tell you something. You’re too damn late. We got here first; we’re going to get what we came for, and then we’re going to get what you’re coming for, and we’re make it everything it fought against. Every beam of light and hope, ‘cleansing’ the world of our Masters, we will make a beacon of suffering and despair. Everywhere it goes, it will corrupt, it will burn, it will decay--and there’s not a damn thing you or that Dragon bitch can do about it.”

The restrains of Lethrena’s spell weakened. Broderick had figured that’d be the case; if the Troll was a projection, there were far more energies pulling him back than they could muster in keeping him there forever. But the more they did keep him there, the more they tired out their enemy. Similar to any wounds; they would only be vicious aches he got there--but vicious aches they’d still be.

“If you’re wise, you’ll join us the next time we find you, though I very much doubt you’ll be that smart.” Broderick spat in the Troll’s face, not seeing his mate’s subtle enthrallment with her potential servant. “The next best thing then would be to pray for a swift, merciful death. Though, I very much doubt I’ll grant it. You’re nothing more than an inconvenience--but I greatly relish the opportunity to deal with an inconvenience in as slow a manner as possible.”

Ye’tka’s bonds broke and the Troll’s visage finally vanished. Broderick smirked. Rhea and Ye’tka would be exhausted, now, and frantic to heal him. Behind them, Rakan looked on in silent horror. She knew the Troll; he was a rare friend in the desert, and a fun bed-mate. Saying anything, however, would prompt only pain--and a glance from “Caeon” her way only affirmed as much.

Broderick took a breath and straightened himself, smirk broadening and an egotistical air brazenly open around him. His guards looked on with the admiration of sheep. He was corrupt in his role as their leader, growing bolder each second, and he was being lauded for it.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go get what we came for.”


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kas, Atano, and the Dwarves get back to Dragon's Mouth. A new threat arises, and Kas heads out to deal with it.

As Kaskaeld, Atano, and the Dwarven trio sighted Dragon’s Mouth camp again, they started to run. The camp was in a hurried frenzy, but only when they got closer did they see why.

Ye’tka, for his shamanistic fight, had set up a large ritual space in the middle of the tents. The elemental offerings he had placed at each directional edge of the circle were knocked over, and the Troll himself had a crowd circling him.

Kas was fast, yet Atano reached their first, despite his massive size. The Tauren pushed through the crowd roughly, clearing the way for Kas as well, finding Ye’tka on the ground half-delirious and Rhea grimly soothing him. Both Kas and Atano knelt down, and Atano spoke first.

“What happened?” His voice betrayed a gravity far beyond the stoic grimness he was trying to convey in his features. Rhea glanced at him, then at her lover.

“The Twilight found what they were looking for. A Waygate with an Old God beyond. The same one our Sentinel orb went after.”

She looked back at Ye’tka grimly, petting the Troll’s sweaty face.

“He did what he could to delay them. It put a strain on us both, maintaining that distance for casting spells.”

“Do they have the orb?” Kas asked quietly.

Rhea glanced at him again, anguish behind her eyes, but said nothing. He nodded.

The Dwarven three, while the newcomer party was discussing what it needed to, quietly dropped off the Ogre’s meats and cloths, making Victoria the guard-captain quite happy and giving her a chance to cover up some.

“How bad is he?” Atano said, glancing up from Ye’tka to Rhea. The Goblin woman met his eyes, soothing the shaman as his breathing quickened and slowed again.

“He’s resting. I can’t tell, beyond that. If he can rest now, without any exertion of energy, he’ll be fine sooner. I’ll do what I can, as well.”

Atano nodded, bending over the Troll shaman and hoisting him up off the ground. Rhea stood quickly.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking him to the shade of a tent,” the large bull-man replied, wandering uphill to his goal. Rhea looked after him, raising a brow, then at Kas. Her bodyguard watched her closely.

She was, she realized, breathing rather labored. She brushed back her hair and found it tangled with sweat. She glanced away, sighing, then back to him.

“I’m fine, Kas. Little bit of a strain; nothing more.”

His gaze didn’t change. Her jaw tightened–then relaxed. He was just trying to be protective, however rigidly.

She took his hand, squeezing it gently. “I’m fine.”

He nodded softly.

A clamor from the edge of camp made them both turn. A few hundred yards out, a lone look-out post stood tall, and from it, a young human man, long hair tied back in a greasy ponytail, sprinted past them to Victoria. The guard-woman paused her attempt to dress herself more conservatively, looking him over.

“What’s wrong, look-out? Report.”

“Ma’am–” the young man said, gasping for breath, “Black Dragonflight infantry headed this way, out in the Dustbowl! Bipedal guards and a large drake, with a twisting horn on his snout.”

Rhea paled. “Kalaran,” she murmured.

Kas looked at her. She turned to meet his gaze, eyes wide, for the first time since he’d met her looking truly anxious.

“Kalaran the Annihilator,” she murmured. “An ancient Black Dragon of considerable power– Even he’s joined the search for the egg. We have to stop him before he gets to close.”

Kas nodded, standing, turning to go out–

Rhea grabbed his arm firmly, pulling him back. He paused, kneeling down to be eye-to-eye with her again.

“Take the Dwarves with you. Don’t you give me that look–I know what you can do. And I know what they are capable of. So take allies, and go, Kas. Hunt down Kalaran; hunt down his guards. And be careful.”

Kas nodded again, softer, putting a hand over hers. She covered his, watching him, then kissed his masked cheek and broke off to go tend to Ye’tka. Kas stood again, watching her. Atano came out from Ye’tka’s tent, glancing at her then at Kas.

“There’s Dragons to hunt?”

Kas raised a brow, nodded, and turned, going to get his Dwarven party. The Tauren jogged to his side, keeping pace with him.

“Let’s go, then.”

Kas stopped, glancing up at him coldly. Atano met his gaze.

“Simply because I’m not someone you can trust doesn’t mean I don’t want those corrupt death-bringers to win, Kaskaeld. Let’s go.”

“You’re not coming,” Kas said plainly, continuing on.

Atano watched him, eyes narrowing. He didn’t need a ranged weapon; he could just crush that Gilnean’s skull in his hands–

“Give me one good reason why not, rogue!”

“BECAUSE–” Kas said, turning on his heels and causing the camp around him to dart back out of his way, “you’re apparently blind! Look around you, hunter! There’s one guard here– ONE! What happens when Miss No-Armor there has to fend off an invasion of ten? Of twenty? More? I’m taking the Dwarves out and culling one group–that’s by no means the only group. And if they overcome me, who’s left here to defend?”

Atano blinked. His bird squawked reproachfully at Kas for yelling at its master, but Atano shushed it.

“You’re the next best fighter here, and you’re a perfectionist; I’m trusting you enough to not fuck it all up if something happens.”

Kas turned again, not waiting for Atano’s reply, snapping his fingers at the Dwarves and waving them to come with, trotting out of Dragon’s Mouth camp and into the vast desert.

Past the long curve of one of the towering mountains, the beating of huge wings carried along the wind.

<*>                    <*>                    <*>

The Dwarves had stayed quiet alongside Kas as they approached the mountain’s end. The gravity of the situation coupled with the clashing sound of wings and armor drawing closer cast a shadow over the whole party’s spirits.

Kas paused at the edge of the mountain, taking a breath, very carefully glancing around the side. The brothers clamored close, looking to him for details. The most experienced and frightening fighter of the group–he was in charge.

He remained quiet a long moment, then took a deep breath, looking back at his band of fighters.

“All right. There’s no definitive lines organized in their militia. That said, they’re clumped rather close together. When we take them, we need to be quick, we need to be quiet, and we need to lure off as many groups as we can. We could probably take them as a group, but any advantage is a better set of odds.”

The Dwarves nodded, readying their weapons.

“Baelog,” Kas said, looking to the shortest of the three, “can you sling a rock as well as you can arrows?”

The Dwarf grinned. “Where d’ye think I got me start?”

“Get the closest party’s attention. Then move back into the shade here. We’ll do this out of sight, if possible.”

Kas motioned Olaf and Eric to join him, moving slightly up the mountainside to a mildly hidden spot. Baelog rooted around for the right rock, and, upon finding it, eased his way to the edge of the mountain-side. He licked his lips under his massive beard, tossed it, then rushed to join the others.

Kas shut his eyes, getting ready. They listened. A faint din of draconic speech, then footsteps and clanking armor drawing nearer.

Kas vanished into the shadows.

Eric glanced around for him, but Olaf pulled him back. There were bigger things to worry about–

Darkflight Soldiers–huge lumbering bipedal dragon-men–with black scales and twisting sharp armor and spears–came around the corner, clamoring. A pack of four.

Baelog carefully notched an arrow. Eric narrowed his eyes. Olaf readied his shield.

The soldiers moved closer, looking around, suspicious–

A sudden rush of wind behind them, and below, Kas appeared, daggers piercing the necks of the two furthest back, cutting off their screams and the Darkflight’s path of escape.

Baelog stood quickly, letting the arrow fly, the wooden bolt piercing through the eye of the closest, sending it flailing back as life left it. Eric charged at a full sprint, cutting off the last remaining one as it had time to let out a yell, smashing his horned helm into its belly and doubling it over with a wheeze. Olaf, quick behind him, bashed his shield full-force into the lizard’s head, adrenaline coursing, hearing a sharp CRACK! and relaxing. It was dead.

The yell echoed out through the Dustbowl. Over the troops.

Kas, eyes still shut, motioned the Dwarves to follow quickly, ducking down low and moving to one side opposite where they’d been, where dead plants tried to sprout up, wild and thick. The Dwarves huddled in close, not minding the creeping tendrils of the roots.

“Good start. Here come others. I’ll cut them off at the middle as best I can. Work your way through to me.”

He vanished and they heard his footsteps retreating.

Eric glanced at the other two. “Cor, I’m glad he’s with us, eh?”

The other two murmured their agreement. Baelog notched another arrow.

A larger party, too thick-together to count, rounded the corner of the mountain and hissed. All soldiers. All armed, and all quickly ready for an ambush now.

The brothers took a deep breath, waiting for Kas–

The rogue did not disappoint.

A blinding white blur crashed into the side of the party, cutting them in two. The Gilnean lithely jumped from one to the next, slicing and slashing as best he could, leaving as deep wounds as possible, yet the soldiers, more aware than the last, quickly fell back to descend upon him.

As the lead one turned away, Baelog stood and fired, grazing by his target but finding another’s neck. The yelping gurgle and the flailing humanoid gave Kas enough time to sink his daggers into the neck of another before having to dodge the onslaught of blades.

Olaf and Eric charged, Baelog letting another arrow fly. The leader he’d been trying to hit raised an iron-gauntlet-covered arm, breaking the arrow’s shaft against it, letting out a writhing hissing yell, but the other Dwarves reached him quicker than he could move, and Eric, guessing correctly that he’d try and protect himself chest-height, instead ducked further and tumbled into the soldier’s backwards-bending knee, sending him sprawling onto the ground. Olaf jumped, landing full-force down on the soldier’s head shield-first, crushing it into the ground.

Another screeched, spear descending on Eric, only to jerk back and fall into its companions as Baelog loosed another arrow, sprinting to join his brothers.

Olaf blocked the tip of another spear, sending it glancing off into the dirt. Eric threw a potion, breaking it against the eyes of the guard, sending it staggering back, doubling it over just in time for Baelog to shoulder his bow and unsheathe his sword, slashing up and burying it in the veiny neck of the lizard-man. A red geyser erupted, but their battle was nothing compared to the commotion Kas was causing–

Through the bodies, they could see his white armor dancing and twisting, the soldiers roaring and yelping as his blades connected. They carved their own spears, deflected with loud clashes of metal against metal, then he was surrounded again–

“FORWARD!” Olaf yelled, and the Dwarven three crashed into the onslaught of Dragons.

Against the fury of the invaders, they held their ground, Olaf pushing them back, Baelog carving out legs and lowered-down necks on one side, Eric’s fists smashing through knees and jaws and throats on the other. A spear caught through the side of Olaf’s defense, slashing against his shoulder, cutting the armor and just into the muscle, and the tallest brother yelled. Eric darted over, uncorking one potion bottle and pouring it over the wound, dulling the pain and healing it minorly. Olaf roared and charged, swinging the shield with all his might and sending the assailant careening backwards–

–it stopped suddenly, arching, as Kas’s dagger erupted out the front of its throat. Its back jerked, then the Gilnean yelled, lifting the huge behemoth of a soldier, having impaled its lower back with the other dagger, and threw it into the charging bodies of its companions.

Eric rushed forward, not letting them get any rest, smashing into the chest of one and sending it sprawling back further. Baelog and Olaf joined him, getting past Kas, the soldiers lowering their spears to the small men–

Kas darted forward, and Olaf yelped in pain, feeling a sudden weight on the recent wound reopen it–

Kas jumped off the large Dwarf’s shoulder over the spears of the battalion, descending mercilessly and carving his daggers into the eyes of one unfortunate soldier, pressing them in without remorse. The clamor gave Olaf enough time to grit his teeth and hiss away the pain, rushing forward as well to hold against the remaining line. Eric laughed madly, cracking jaws; Baelog yelled with absolute hatred, blade taking no prisoners; Olaf whirled the shield, fending off spears and giving back broken bones with each bash.

Kas, beyond them, took care of the rest quickly and with deadly silence.

Finally, the last one fell dead, and the brothers stood, panting, glancing around. The massacre around them soaked the cracked, dry earth in a deep scarlet flood.

Kas’s white fur armor was dripping in it. The rogue seemed barely to need more than a few deep breaths, and he was all right again. Olaf rolled his shoulder uneasily. Their ally was… interesting.

From the end of the mountain, an earth-shattering roar.

The Dwarves snapped their attention up to where a huge Black Dragon, twisting horn carving up from its face, had flown and settled before them.

Kalaran the Annihilator. Blood-shot eyes bore into them, seething hateful wrath on the mortal prey who had cut down his army. He took a deep breath–

“SCATTER!” Olaf yelled.

A jet of white-hot flame shot forth from the Dragon’s throat, searing through the bodies of his army. The Dwarves sprinted hard, throwing themselves down and ducking out of the way of the heat-blast. Kas sprinted the other way, dodging the fire and rolling, grabbing a spear and hurling it at the beast’s black scales.

Kalaran’s fire ceased abruptly as it reeled back, dodging the spear and standing on his back legs. The Gilnean pressed the moment’s advantage, grabbing another and throwing it full-force at one extended wing–

The projectile tore through the veiny membrane, and Kalaran roared loud in pain, bringing his front legs back down and slamming the earth, knocking the rogue off-balance. Kas stumbled, and the Dragon rushed to him, jaw hanging open–

One of Baelog’s arrows cracked against the side of Kalaran’s hard scaled neck. The beast roared again, turning to them, breathing in–

Baelog let another arrow fly, and it whizzed through the air past the Dragon’s fangs to imbed into the slick roof of his mouth.

Kalaran screamed in pain, neck jerking about as it tried to dislodge the point. Eric and Olaf charged, connecting with one front leg, not doing much except knocking the Dragon off-balance for a moment before it swiped them away, sending them flying backwards through the air. His blood-shot eyes looked down on Baelog, murderous, but something else caught his eye– in the peripheral– movement–

Kas, with two Darkflight spears, sprinting, jumping as high as he could, imbedding one spear into the base of Kalaran’s throat.

The blade carved through the scales–made by Dragons to fight against their brethren among any other foes–and nestled deep into Kalaran’s airway. The Annihilator wheezed and roared again, swiping at Kas, but the Gilnean was quick, getting a footing on the staff part of the spear and launching himself upward to face-height, bringing the other spear up and over his head–

Kalaran’s eyes widened, and, Kas realized with a grim joy, the old Dragon’s victorious ego shattered.

Kas brought the spear down with all his might, carving deep between the Dragon’s eyes into its skull. Kalaran’s body spasmed, throwing Kas off, and the rogue tucked and rolled, hitting the dirt. He quickly darted away as the large Black Dragon’s body came crashing down to the ground, neck rolling down like a wave and finally the head connecting with the dirt. The Annihilator twitched then finally fell still.

The Dwarves let out a resounding cheer that echoed through the Dustbowl, and even Kas smiled. If there were any Black Dragon troops left, he did not know, because none other came to investigate the sounds of battle–and when they looked past the mountain at the land, any who had been there had since fled.


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Broderick and Lethrena reach their goal--but there's an unexpected set-back.

As Kalaran fell to the blades of his dying guards, Broderick led his band of sheep further into the dark earth. The towering columns of civilization past gave the whole enclosed space the feeling of a tomb, but the Twilight had seen far worse than any desiccated decomposition found in a tomb, and so they pressed on without fearful pause.

Lethrena stayed close to her mate. The group did not notice—or, at least, to mind, but, Rakan thought reproachfully,  they were on the verge of their goal anyway; if their leader was breaking oaths, what would they care?

They turned the corner into a huge chamber, and even Rakan let her guard down, in awe.

The room was was circular, carving up into a dome at the top. The ceiling was so far away that it was hard to make out, even to trained eyes, but along it, the constellations told their stories with the tender brush of an ancient artist. Along the ground, numerous languages spiraled, carved into the floor, telling a giant story erupting from the center. The walls were alcoves that housed statues of magnificent splendor: all kinds of races, all kinds of animals, all made up from a map of stars. Their joints twinkled, and they were a grand constellation of glowing light, standing on pedestals to be discovered and revered.

None of that mattered to Broderick and Lethrena.

In the middle of this grand place, their goal stood. A gigantic ring in the ground, with numerous runes and mystical etchings, upon which four cylindrical pillars of smooth black stone towered, atop which a ring of binding enchantment ran, leaving the exact ceiling of the middle a whole but still connecting the power of the structure.

The Waygate.

And, dormant on the ground in front of it, the Titan orb Rhea so desperately needed.

Lethrena started forward slowly in wonder, but Broderick caught her arm firmly. She glanced back at him, confused, and he cleared his throat.

“Caeon.”

The Night Elf came to his side quickly.

“Find any traps. This is a Titan relic, after all.”

The Night Elf bowed, taking out his blades and moving into the room. Lethrena moved back against her mate, blushing at the excitement of youth, but none of the guards minded any.

Caeon held his daggers cautiously, one curving along the edge of the spiraling tiles, the other testing the ground ahead of him, rolling slowly over the lettering. He went step by slow step, composed as ever, and the Twilight waiting for him remained calm and as patient as they could muster.

Caeon got to the first statue, pausing with his daggers and poking about the statue’s base, checking the alcove. Sticking his head in, he narrowed his eyes.

“Hard-light beam here. Probably ready to trigger if the Waygate’s used without an activation key.”

“Can you disable it?” Broderick called out to him.

Caeon hoisted himself up carefully into the alcove, back to the party. The low scrape of blades against chiseled stone–then the Night Elf hopped back down, content.

“Disconnected from the wall and turned so that the outlying panel covers the beam’s hole.”

“Won’t the beam still cut through?” Lethrena said cautiously, looking up at Broderick. Her mate shook his head no.

“The covers are made to direct the beam precisely; the stone is impenetrable.”

She nodded.

Caeon made his way around the rest of the outer ring, hopping up into the statue alcoves and fiddling with the traps. After a long few minutes, he finally completed the exterior of the room, leaving the seemingly infinite loops of the spiral of language left. The guard stopped, looking to his commander.

“Shall I continue my course, my Lord, or shall I simply test a path to the Waygate itself?”

Broderick inwardly sighed. He could have no mistakes–and yet, time was precious. “Continue your course, Caeon, but faster if possible. Then come back to us straight.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

The guard turned, moving at a brisker pace, hunched forward testing the lettering well. Rakan found Taros’s hand and gripped it tight, watching her one hope for survival among the Twilight, expecting each second that he’d be blown to pieces in the walkway. The large Tauren, despite not knowing about “Caeon”’s duplicity, held her hand with as much reassurance as was possible.

The Night Elf came around the third ring of the spiral…

The fourth…

Seventh…

At the ninth, he paused, frowning, then squatted down closer to the lettered floor.

“What is it?” Broderick called out, frowning. Caeon glanced at him, then went back to the letters in front of him, prodding at them carefully with his dagger.

“This letter is slightly higher up, my Lord.”

Broderick raised a brow, his patience dwindling, yet there was little he could say to inspire both an urgency for time _and_ an impression he didn’t have ulterior motives. The Night Elf, however, was good to inspect it; Titan builders, despite having the ability to create imperfections, would not do so by mistake as lower races would. They were too perfect in their planning. Therefore…

Caeon shifted the stone of the letter loose, pulling it out of the ground. “Pressure-sensitive spot, my Lord,” he commented mildly.

“Leave the letter off. Without it, there should be no way to activate the pressure, yes?”

“Yes, my Lord; it would be too thin.”

Broderick nodded. Caeon set the letter aside, continuing on through the rest of the spirals, finding two more pressure-sensitive letters and repeating the process. He finally got to the middle and, after inspecting both the inactive Titan orb and the Waygate thoroughly, he took a breath and strode straight back to Broderick and the others without interruption.

“Safe, my Lord.”

“Good man. Thank you, Caeon.” Broderick moved past him briskly to the Waygate, thinking to himself that the guard would have to die quickly. That time was coming soon; their control over the Master was rapidly approaching–

Caeon fell into step just behind him. A guard–with the upper hand. Dammit. Broderick narrowed his eyes–but the Twilight guards were idiots, there to serve, not create the strategies. They had no idea of their impending fate.

“Lethrena.”

The Blood Elf gulped, moving forward with the rest of the party quickly, pausing a moment in the shadow of the monolithic ring. She steeled her jaw, setting out her reagents to work. Broderick remained quiet and calm, ready for the massacre–but, as he’d told Lethrena, that wouldn’t start until the Master was already ensnared in their hands. If Yrr’jaiish the Seer had earned that title, then it would inevitably be watching them now–better that it was relaxed, believing in its power rather than fight them, seeing their betrayal; and, if it attacked anyway, Broderick could manipulate his force into submitting it.

Whatever happened, at least the pins and needles tension would finally end.

Lethrena knelt at the center of the Waygate, placing down herbs and elements, muttering intense incantations and crafting alchemical circles and runes that Broderick had scarcely seen before, much less attempted himself. She took out the small, silver ritual dagger she kept, cutting the palm of her hand and pouring out the blood in the circle.

The ring of energy swirled about the floor of the Waygate darkened red with the poisonous enchantments. Broderick smiled, appraising his beautiful mate’s skill.

Lethrena stood, bowing herself out of the circle and going around the exterior with the dark athame, murmuring words in her native tongue that sounded both beautiful and unmercifully cruel: the binding spell, set to bind the Master’s energy to this world–and to Lethrena and Broderick’s command. As she did, a low hum in the room started, the crackle of electricity, and as Broderick stood there he straightened, wincing, feeling every muscle in his body tense in anticipation. He planted his feet firmly, feeling his person tugged forward towards the intricate spell, chest-first; the binding trying to draw off of the energy of those in the room as well as the Waygate. The guards similarly planted themselves, and only the unfortunate Rakan stumbled forward a few paces–caught and firmly pulled back into the arms of her protective bull friend.

Lethrena finished her incantation, shaking her hand once firmly and letting drops of blood splatter into the center of the circle.

The Waygate hummed louder then a crash of wind buffeted the party, pushing them away and pulling against their backs in a dualed frenzy. Broderick grit his teeth, hands twitching to be on the handles of his swords, mentally lining up his strikes on Caeon first, then on Aayani–at least to damage her so that she could not heal anyone–then–

The humming stuttered and the winds died.

Lethrena’s eyes widened, and she quickly darted around the exterior of the circle, checking everything–

Broderick inhaled sharply.

In the center of the circle, the outline of a man cracked in and out of view. Like electrical static, it seemed formless, yet Broderick could almost make out a young human male.

“Yrr’jaiish?” Broderick called out to it, tense.

Lethrena knelt, looking through the spell’s foundation frantically, something gone wrong.

The figure shuddered in and out of being, voice a ringing of soft tones. “New… Kargath…”

Broderick frowned deeply. “New Kargath? You want us to go to New Kargath, Yrr’jaiish?”

The figure vanished entirely, and the energy died completely.

Lethrena stood, aghast, twitching with disbelief, horror, and fury that her spell failed so spectacularly–in front of her mate no less. She snarled then paused, letting out her breath and regaining herself. She couldn’t lose control with the guards still alive and watching. She opened her eyes again, cold and calm, and knelt down, touching the runes of the shrine.

“Lethrena?” Broderick called to her, taking a step towards her.

She held up her hand, and he stopped. She relaxed again, stopping her breath as she went into a trance.

The guards stood uneasily behind Broderick, waiting. This should’ve been their triumph; their Master joining them in all its glory–yet their summoner could not muster up the right enchantment?

A few long, aching minutes passed in this tension.

Finally, Lethrena resumed her breathing and sighed angrily, collecting her reagents and packing them all neatly away.

“Report,” Broderick said calmly, though the harsh edge of his voice was softened for his beautiful mate. She looked to him as she stepped down off of the Waygate’s central circle.

“The Sentinel orb had enough of a chance to stifle Yrr’jaiish’s hold on the Waygate that, despite my magnification of our Master’s power, it was unable to produce the effect we wanted. Had our progress been unhindered, we would have arrived in time; as it is, our Master’s hold on the Waygate eroded day by day due to that damnable Titan creation.”

Broderick glanced at the orb, narrowing his eyes. Lethrena went to Aayani, and her palm was healed in an instant.

“There is another Waygate under the Horde fortress of New Kargath, to the North of here,” Lethrena continued. “Yrr’jaiish waited for us here to tell us; it clung to the two Waygates in equal terms, but feared letting go of this one and being able to contact me directly lest its power be drained and the opportunity lost.”

Broderick nodded quietly. He was stuck with the Twilight at least another day.

“Thank you, Lady Goldenfire. Rest yourself for the next attempt.”

“Yes, Commander,” Lethrena said softly, bowing her head. Her ego had taken a fierce blow, Broderick thought–and she would be feeling it until the Master was in their control, however long that might be, now.

“It seems, my fellow Twilight,” Broderick continued, looking around at the sea of weary faces, “that our quest here is not yet done. Believe me when I tell you all that I am impressed and indebted deeply due to the tremendous efforts you’ve put in. Once our Master is with us, I give you my promise that you will be free to rest, and that Lady Azalia and all the Twilight will know of your valiance out here.”

He paused, then said without any break in tone, “And the valiance of those we’ve thus-far lost.”

The guards nodded softly, looking to their leader. Broderick smiled, soft and firm. He would lead them to greatness. He bent down, grabbing the orb and hoisting it up, hands tight and angry. It was theirs now. 

“Now then: to New Kargath.”


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhea's party heads out to find their Titan orb again. Ye'tka entertains them--then gets pulled into a trance.

Kas was greeted at Dragon’s Mouth with unusual warmth. The Dwarves cheered for him, clamoring for the people to do so as well, and despite his reputation and the dripping blood quickly blackening to ooze on his deermane armor, he was treated like a hero.

Rhea came out of Ye’tka’s tent, smiling, moving to her bodyguard and sending a wave of summoned water through the armor, drenching it but thoroughly cleaning it again. He knelt down and she moved closer, putting her hands on his shoulders.

“One less dragon to worry about; one step closer to redemption,” she murmured. “There’s still a lot of work to be done. But I’m overjoyed you’re okay.”

Kas smiled under his white cowl. “Did I miss anything here?”

“Just Ye’tka recovering. And,” she said, glancing back at the tent, “once he’s fully up on his feet, we’re all heading out for that Sentinel orb. It’s been too long out in the open already.”

Kas nodded. “We’re bringing them both?”

Rhea looked back at her lover, nodding grimly. “If the Twilight are there, we’ll need Atano with us as well as Ye’tka guiding.”

“And the egg?”

“Is going to be safe here in Hiero’s hands. Especially if we find any Black Dragonflight on our way out there; they’ll think it’s still on us.”

Kas nodded again, staying quiet.

It didn’t take long for both men to appear. Ye’tka still wobbled on his feet, but was steady enough to make his way down the hill to them without any issue. Atano stayed close, monitoring him, the tallstrider chirping merrily at his side.

“Ready,” the Troll said, smiling politely at Kas and Rhea. “Sorry ‘bout delay.”

“It was the result of a necessity,” Rhea said, turning and starting to stride out west in the desert. “A needed delay we won’t worry about but still have to account for.”

Kas fell in dutifully at her side. The Dwarf brothers bowed to him as he left, and he nodded once, acknowledging them; as good as a proper salute.

They made their way out of Dragon’s Mouth into the unforgiving desert.

The cavern where Ye’tka had found the Sentinel and the Twilight was still a decent few hours from the camp. They made their way along as quickly as possible, but the unmerciful heat of the sun beat them down into a misery of weariness. The water they’d packed took hit after hit, though they stayed dutiful to keep it reserved. Blessedly, they came across neither Ogres nor Black Dragons, but the lack of shade made up for those dangers in spades.

Ye’tka was by far the best companion to travel with, regaling the others with tales of his ancestors, leaving out the sadder ones and focusing only on the foolish, ridiculous ones, lightening the tone as much as possible. Rhea was the first to laugh, but the two killers they traveled with shared smiles and rapt attention.

He told of his great-uncle Hanagi, who had lived and breathed and died for a pack of wild raptors he’d raised from birth. His wife, Aljanai, had warned him that bringing wild eggs in from an outside nest would result in dangers--and that the best they could do would be to boil them up while still unhatched, lest there be more nipping mouths to feed. Hanagi hadn’t listened, and in a week, there were five baby raptors that were, indeed, very adept at nipping.

Aljanai, though exasperated by her husband’s sentimentality looking at the large and naive eyes of the baby raptors, did love him dearly, and she adapted to serving more meat than she had been used to cooking per day. Hanagi hunted for more, becoming a well-respected boar hunter along the arid Durotar plains, always returning at night to his family’s hut at the eastern edge, along the great ocean. For a decade or so, life continued this way, and there were no complaints.

Hanagi finally built, at his wife’s request, a stable for his raptors, seeing as one hut could not easily support seven people--five of whom had large swinging tails. Over one winter, amidst the cramped living conditions, Hanagi slaved over the stable, building it mostly enclosed for the raptors to still roam free. Because there were so few trees in the area, Hanagi and Aljanai sold most of their possessions to pay for the shipments of wood from the north. Aljanai was less happy with this idea, yet her husband’s happiness and her own necessity for comfort in her hut gave her ample reason to agree that this was the right choice.

The wood came, and when it did, Hanagi stopped hunting as many boars to focus his time on construction. While he worked, Aljanai focused her efforts on becoming an extremely proficient fisher-woman, and her techniques for netting bigger catches of fish and crabs remain taught by the Ogrimmar fishing elite.

During this time, an Orc named Dran’ko became their neighbor. Dran’ko was, from all accounts, a boisterous fellow--very fun to the young ideals of independent life; throwing celebrations that many young Orc women snuck to where the liquors overflowed. He spoke brazenly out against the complaints of other neighbors; older Orcs who valued their quiet home and their sensible morals. Hanagi and Aljanai never worried about this--or even heard of him--because they lived down on the shore; and Dran’ko similarly did not know about them.

When the stable for the raptors was finally built, it was the height of winter and as cold as it could possibly get in the area--perhaps not so cold to either the Gilnean or the Lady Dragon, but to them it was comparatively frigid--and so Hanagi thought that his wonderful raptors, who had moved out to the stable and were not privy to the lovely embers of the bonfire in the middle of the hut, would be cold. As a result, Aljanai fashioned headwear for each; head-scarves of vibrant color that, she comments still with mirth, made them all look like the prettiest ladies in Durotar.

Hanagi, his construction goal done, was finally free to continue hunting boars for his family, made especially important because Aljanai’s knitting had taken up her time to get as many fish. So, out he went on his boar hunts, and he found a large source quite close to his home.

Dran’ko, as it turned out, was a boar farmer--and, being young and irresponsible, he had no gates on his property, letting the boars wander and graze on neighboring gardens without much care. They were his property; if they hurt another person’s flowers, that mattered little because he had gold and could pay that person off--and if someone harmed them, that was more important and their fault.

And, as it happened, they were indeed harmed.

Without gates or signs, Hanagi simply saw wild boars, and, being the wonderfully talented hunter he was, he humanely slaughtered for food almost three quarters of Dran’ko’s herd, saving the excess meat with shade and herbs to prevent it from spoiling.

Dran’ko, understandably upset at coming back to a slaughtered herd, demanded to know which of his neighbors had done this, threatening to go all the way to Ogrimmar to collect a guard and exact the justice of an execution--the only thing, in his mind, that would make up for such an offense. None of his neighbors caring much for him, they gave him little help, but he soon learned of the existence of Hanagi and Aljanai and the fact surrounding Hanagi’s occupation. Enough time had passed without revenge that the young Orc, incensed and lacking wisdom, took draughts of ale too numerous to count, and went down to the beach to confront them.

Hanagi and Aljanai, generous by nature, were upset they had harmed boars that were not simply wild, but in fact had belonged to someone. The young Orc, mind and voice slurred with alcohol, ensured them there would be a price--which originally had been the head of Hanagi, but now upon seeing them both, could be settled as time alone with Aljanai.

Both Hanagi and Aljanai were deeply offended but knew it would do little good fighting Dran’ko with strength. Instead, as Aljanai said sweetly, of accepting her old, tired frame, there were five daughters in the stable that would love to meet the young farmer, and he could do whatever he wished with them.

Hanagi, more timid than his wife, shifted anxiously on his feet, but Dran’ko laughed, interpreting this as a father’s anxiety over virginal daughters.

Dran’ko bid them farewell for the night, going over to the enclosed structure in the darkness that had absorbed the winter’s evening. Hanagi and Aljanai saw him enter and heard his voice, appraising the smooth, cool skin of the women and the fine fabric of their head-dresses. They heard little more that night.

In the morning, Hanagi and Aljanai went to the stables, timid but intrigued to see if there were still remains of the fiercely inebriated boar-farmer. They came upon quite the sight.

The five prettiest ladies of Durotar were huddled around the passed-out man, laying down, quiet and lazy, watching him. He was fully dressed though his belt seemed undone; the most he could accomplish before falling asleep, and he was cuddled up to the chest of one raptor while spooning another. The others were draped over him, though as one of them nibbled at his arm it was quickly spat out in disgust and disinterest again. As Hanagi and Aljanai came on this sight, the five prettiest ladies looked up at their parents and batted their eyes for meat.

The uproar of laughter from Hanagi and Aljanai was enough to awaken Dran’ko, who took a few hungover blinks at his now-lit surroundings and let out a squeak of terror, scrambling to his feet and trying to run away. Due to his lust, his pants came down about his ankles and he fell flat on his chin, bare rear exposed to the air. The sight of the raptors all swiveling their gaze to it nearly killed Hanagi there and then with explosive mirth.

Dran’ko made his way to his feet, rushed off, and sold his property, moving much closer to the city and running a much more humble, responsible farm than before. Hanagi and Aljanai kept the raptors their whole life, and the raptors hatchlings too, which grew up with their own children--

Ye’tka suddenly fell silent, stopping in place. Rhea glanced back at him, curiosity immediately giving way to alarm. The shaman fell limply forward, his tusks threatening to break against the earth except for Atano, who dived and caught the man.

Kas moved over quickly with a waterskin. “Heat-stroke?”

“No,” Rhea replied before Atano could answer, both men looking back at the Dragonness as she moved to Ye’tka’s side, shutting his blank eyes against the rays of the sun. “Something called him into a trance.”

The two more dangerous men tensed, looking around. Rhea felt Ye’tka’s pulse, making sure everything was normal, cursing under her breath.

 

Ye’tka staggered and fell to his knees, gasping for breath. To be wrenched from his body was not a foreign experience; he’d had numerous times, especially when he was younger, when his spirit guide, wishing to speak with him, would pull him out to the astral planes--but it was perpetually a disconcerting and intensely uncomfortable transition. He stood, wobbly, looking around.

He had been pulled into a throne room the likes of which he’d never seen, and knew did not exist in the vast desert of the Badlands--or anywhere else in reality. It was a creation of the mind of whoever had pulled him out; a vast illusion that they had wished for him to partake in. And, seeing who it was, Ye’tka grimaced and understood quite well why.

Lethrena Goldenfire sat, relaxed, upon the throne at the top of a gilded set of stairs at the head of the room. Next to her, the visage of Broderick Redmane, her mate, sat also; but he was not here in this dream with them, and his image was stiff and disinterested, purely a placeholder for the real thing. Broderick was dressed in flowing robes, deep purple and black, a dark king. His queen, however--

Ye’tka looked away, feeling the heat of a blush move over his face, brow furrowing coldly. He had no interest to be seduced by this Twilight witch, despite the transparency of her garments, the sweet outline of her figure.

“Why do you defy me, shaman?”

Her voice was soft, yet it echoed through the space with only a hint of her great power. Ye’tka could feel her green eyes piercing his skin; the low smirk at the edge of her mouth as she toyed with him. In her great hubris, she believed the battle already hers.

“Why shouldn’t I?” Ye’tka said, strengthening his stance, stretching out his back to be a truly imposing height before letting it hunch again naturally.

Lethrena laughed softly, the echoes making it seem perpetual. She stood, slow, like a snake uncoiling into its dance between hunter and prey, and held her head high, looking down her nose at him.

“You seem not to understand your position in the world, Ye’tka Qoatoll,” she murmured, moving down the stairs, achingly slow, letting herself glide along them, showing off her control; her patience; her experience manipulating men already quite practiced. Controlling Broderick subtly was hard; getting any other under her wing would be as easy as taking a child’s toy. “You have the opportunity to enjoy greatness. Power. All the pleasures of the body and the spirit, beyond your silly little rites and traditions. No more nagging ancestors; no more clandestine rendezvous atop your lonely desert perch with women who cannot stay; power and support from myself and my mate. You would be treasured, Ye’tka; worshiped. By either of us; both of us, if you wished it.”

She moved sweetly over to him, standing mere inches away. Ye’tka looked up at the empty dummy she’d put in place of her mate, then at her waist and hands, blushing but checking for weapons. She smiled softly, letting him see what he wished.

“No tricks,” she murmured, moving closer still. Ye’tka shivered, feeling the heat of her against his chest.

“It’s easy enough,” he spat at her, “to hear all ya bargains and ya tricks--but not hear dem from the voice’a your mate. So if I promise ya my service; I promise ya my body an’ its powah, den ya mate cut off my head, gut me like a fish out o’ watah, and ya got one less obstacle to stoppin’ Rhea an’ Kas.”

Lethrena laughed softly again, putting a hand on his chest. “My strong shaman,” she cooed, “you’re powerful. You’re valuable. I wouldn’t let him harm you even if he tried; you’re important to our cause and you’re needed. You could help us so much. We want the same things, in the end; happiness, freedom from the Twilight and the Master’s tyranny--”

“So dat you an’ he rise up as the new tyrants of the world,” Ye’tka said coldly.

“Could we possibly be worse than those already in power?”

Ye’tka made no reply. Lethrena smiled. She knew her point was well-made. Nonetheless, the Troll stepped back again, out of her reach. She followed him, putting her arms around his neck, doing all she could to entrance him.

“Ye’tka,” she murmured. “Everyone is selfish. Can you really say that our quest for power is wrong? That betraying the Cult is evil; that stamping them out is a vile, punishable act? Can you say that the rule of a man who has led the military of his country and knows the plans and styles of the enemy is a rule to be sneered at? That, having been a peasant, he would discount the trials and tribulations of the common man under his sway?”

“It’s not about that,” Ye’tka said, squirming to rid himself of her snares. “It’s about ya hearts. Ya doin’ this all not for the world; not ta help those you’ve left without family and home. Ya doin’ this to get on top; to get all ya want, because the powers ya had weren’t enough to sate ye both without the pleasures of flesh.”

Lethrena turned his face firmly to her, looking into his eyes. The Troll shivered, tensing. She smirked, softening her features, lips achingly close to his.

“Can you deny me, looking into my eyes, Troll?”

Her prey tried to reply and shuddered, tense. Her smirk widened. He looked away rapidly--and the grain of a thought came to his brow.

They were in a space she’d constructed; not where she was. Which meant two things: she wanted him to see her in this place; powerful, enchanting--but also that she didn’t want him to see where she really was.

But she had found him easily; where to pluck him out of reality.

Which meant, if she knew, then the Twilight--

 

Ye’tka pulled himself hard back awake, gasping. Rhea backed up a step, alarmed at his frenzy. Atano held him back, firm, one hand moving under his head to protect him from smashing it against the rocks. Ye’tka pushed against him hard, panicked--

“ _Ye’tka_.”

The Tauren’s deep voice, used to soothing unruly animals, had just the same effect on the Troll. The shaman paused, looking up at the larger man, blushing slightly with his hand still on the hunter’s chest. Atano held his gaze, professionally calm.

“What happened?”

Ye’tka glanced around.

“No time-- Twilight--”

Before he could say anything more, there was a yell, and from over the hill directly next to them, the Twilight guards charged.


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Twilight ambush Rhea's party!

With weapons of cruel steel brandished and glinting in the sun, the guards of the unholy Twilight cult sprinted forward. Kas was the first to react, the closest to them all, moving quickly to block Rhea and pulling his daggers from their sheaths. Atano’s bird yelped, ducking as an arrow shot past its head and slashed against its owner’s shoulder. The Tauren roared in pain, the tip of their foul arrows barbed to tear flesh further, but he nonetheless shielded Ye’tka as he pulled the shaman up to standing.

The first guard--a human man--reached Kas, ducking behind a shield to bash through the rogue. Normally, it’d be an easy enough side-step, but with Rhea behind him, she’d take the brunt of it if he did--

He took a step forward towards the charging guard then quickly stepped back again in the same line, grabbing the edges of the shield and adding the guard’s momentum with his own, falling back onto the sand and pulling the charger off-balance before planting his boots into the armored breastplate and pushing hard. The guard had no time to flail, going over Rhea’s head even before she ducked and landed flat on his back on the dirt, bouncing and tumbling to a stop towards Atano’s feet. The Tauren roared, bringing one hoof up and crashing down where the guard’s head had been. The guard rolled lithely away in time, blocking Atano’s fist with the shield.

The next guard reached Kas, a Blood Elf male, twin blades in hand slicing at his chest. Kas snarled, unable to back up far still, fending off the blades with his own but still getting a slash across the front of his deermane armor.

Broderick and Lethrena crested the ridge, watching coldly. Broderick unsheathed his new sword--one lent by Caeon--resting the tip on the sands, smiling slowly. The guards around him rushed his prey, save Caeon of course, having no weapon--

Broderick paused and frowned. Caeon would still have no problem with them; he was a master at empty-handed--

He turned just in time to dodge the fist of his most dangerous “guard.”

Lethrena yelped, backing up, the Twilight guards pausing for a fraction of a second, giving Atano and Kas the chance to press the offensive and clear space for Rhea and Ye’tka. Atop the ridge of the dune, “Caeon” arched back out of the path of Broderick’s sword then planted his foot square in the Twilight Commander’s chest, kicking him hard and sending him sprawling ass over tip down the sandy slide.

Rakan and Taros rushed fast down the hill-side to the relative safety beyond Kas and Atano. The two fighters held the line, arms subjected to small nicks and slashes but forcing the advanced Twilight guards back nonetheless. Rhea met Rakan and Taros coldly, stopping them in place, searching their frantic gazes for sincerity before nodding; it was no ruse to get past her defenses.

Kajshara yelled, protecting Aayani and the injured at the back of the Twilight line behind where “Caeon” had been keeping the prisoners, charging the fellow Night Elf and pausing his advance towards Broderick. Lethrena hissed a vile spell, sending a bolt of lime green power at the traitor--one he ducked quickly under. Cieron, itching to prove himself still useful despite the lack of his casting hand, charged the traitor as well; Aayani reaching for him but unable to grab hold in time.

One of the guards below slashed a halberd down, catching the front of Kas’s shin and tearing through the armor. The Gilnean grit his teeth, stumbling, before two guards rushed and knocked him to his back, pinning his arms. The halberd-wielder raised it up, triumphant, intent on carving through his legs--

Atano’s bird crashed into it, squawking and nipping, more of a nuisance than a threat but giving Kas enough time to kick out the halberd-wielder’s knee, buckling the guard down to a kneel, and smashing his boot into the guard’s temple, sending them sprawling away with the bird’s beak following.

Rhea brought her hands out, and the two pinning Kas yelped, thrown back as bolts of fire smashed against their armor. Kas regained his feet--

“Caeon” ducked under Kajshara’s sword, planting a punch straight into the man’s solar-plexus, knuckle curled out to pierce further. Kajshara let out a wheeze, doubling over, but before “Caeon” could do anything, Cieron tackled him down to the sand, rolling halfway down the dune. Broderick snarled, trying to catch his footing on the shifting desert floor, sprinting up to deal with the traitor guard.

Cieron landed on top, straddling the larger man and raining down punches with his remaining hand. “Caeon” blocked them easily, fangs bared, bucking the smaller Blood Elf off of him and rolling quickly into his guard between his legs, large hand grabbing his throat and squeezing tight. The former mage gasped, slamming a hand at “Caeon”’s elbow, but the traitor’s strength and adrenaline overpowered--

With a sickening crunch, “Caeon” twisted his hand, leaving Cieron to spasm and gurgle the last moments of his life helplessly.

Broderick roared, spearing the sword through his former guard’s shoulder, forcing him off Cieron too late. The Gilnean Commander twisted his hands, and the traitor yelled in pain, blood pouring down his arm--

The Blood Elf rogue forced Kas back a step, blades whirling in the air. Kas matched them well but one still got through, slicing down his cheek. Crimson stained the white silky mask, and Kas winced, shut eyes tightening in fury, redoubling the speed and ferocity of his strikes. Next to him, Atano suffered as well, the serrated blades of cruel daggers cutting away fur and muscle along his thick arms, all he could do just to block them--

The Tauren whistled, and his bird came faithfully from the side, knocking the nearest attacker off-balance, just enough time for the large hunter to bring his rifle up--

The attacker turned back in time to face the shotgun’s blast head-on.

The body reeled back into its peers, headless gore, the other guards quick to press in before Atano could reload--having to dodge as he turned the rifle around, using the large butt of it as a club--

Broderick advanced on “Caeon,” forcing the guard stumbling back up the dune, twisting the sword cruelly in his shoulder.

“Who are you really, and where is my guard?” the Twilight Commander spat, eyes narrowed to furious slits.

The Night Elf grit his teeth, grinning defiantly. “Go back to fucking your Blood Elf bitch, you egotistical PRICK!”

The taller man kicked again but Broderick was ready for it, curling his body out of the way of the strike. It wasn’t “Caeon”’s intention to hit--the Night Elf weakening his strength on the sword, bringing his extended foot arcing up and smacking away Broderick’s wrist. The traitor stumbled back, weapon still embedded in his shoulder--

Kajshara sprinted down the dune, sword in hand, aiming for “Caeon”--

The traitor guard grabbed the sword, pulling it out with a scream, ducking under Kajshara and carving it around--

Kajshara stumbled to a stop in front of Broderick, coughing blood, then fell to his knees, the contents of his belly spilling out to the sand. “Caeon” wasted no time, using the Commander’s moment of shock to sprint down around the edge of the guards, joining Rhea and his former captives and collapsing to his knees.

Kas winced, forced back again by the Blood Elf rogue, getting a slash along one shoulder. Atano smashed the butt of the the gun into one guard’s face, sending them careening back, but two more advanced in.

Atop the ridge, Lethrena raised her hands, eyes set on the Dragoness that’d given her so many blows to the ego.

Rhea’s ear twitched, and her head jerked up quickly to the sound of foul magic carried on the winds. She pulled deep on the arcane, electricity crackling through her chest and down her arms--

Lethrena unleashed a torrent of hellfire, bombarding the area with fury and green flame. Rhea roared, Goblin voiced tinged with deeper Draconic, blue lightning crackling out and shielding her party. A bolt darted out, smashed to nothingness by a swirling black shield Lethrena threw up quickly. The sorceress and the enchantress murmured fervent spells, and above their lesser bodyguards the air grew dark and crackled with power.

The Blood Elf rogue sneered, slicing the back of one of Kas’s wrists, almost causing the Gilnean to drop his weapon. Kas jerked back again, narrowly avoiding the slash of another cruel dagger. The rogue laughed, following with lithe, bounding steps, slashes taking chunks of the deermane armor off,deep enough to graze and nick Kas’s sides. The Gilnean somehow kept his composure, darting back-- back--

In a swift motion, as the Blood Elf moved in, Kas moved in too. The cocky rogue, caught mid-step, tried to feint back but was trapped against his allies--

Kas buried his daggers into the man’s chest with merciless vigor.

Atano cracked the rifle’s end into the side of another head, but the remaining guards took advantage of his distance to the rest of the group, swarming and cutting him off further. Ye’tka, still groggy from his vision, darted forward past the chanting Rhea, fists crackling with electricity and orange fire, hitting the side of one remaining Twilight and making the woman yelp and back off. The Troll shaman snarled, fighting hard to break off the barrier to Atano--

Broderick, joining the fray, swung his sword hard, the flat side catching Ye’tka completely off-guard from his peripheral vision, cracking his neck sharply to the right as it connected. Dazed but conscious, the Troll stumbled, put a hand to his temple where a slow stream of blood started to trickle down, then collapsed to his side on the ground.

Where the Blood Elf had failed, Broderick took up the charge against Kaskaeld.

With fury burning his brow, the Gilnean Commander snarled, longer sword fast and strong, causing Kas to retreat closer still to Rhea and the former prisoners. Broderick never landed a blow; every parry working--but he was too far to reach, and Broderick grinned, knowing the battle would be lost as soon as Kas was forced to take a hit to ensure Rhea didn’t--

Atop the hill, Lethrena purred, a wild sneer curving along her malignant features. Her mate was winning his small war--she could help--

She raised her hands high above her head, the world starting to shiver with her might--

Rhea gritted her teeth--time enough for just a quick spell. She barked out the first word and dropped to her knees, smashing her hand to the ground as she uttered the second, aligning her magic with the power of the earth--

The magics collided, and the world exploded white.


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle between Rhea and the Twilight ends for now, and Atano has to make the toughest decision he can.

A quiet ringing—the softness of a world of nothingness. And yet—

Kas coughed, chest tight, armor suffocating against his body. He tried to sit up, realizing the army of cuts up and down his arms were stinging with each movement against the sand; the aches of a body adrenaline coursed through but slowly worked out of.

His hearing was muffled. Slowly things floated back into his mind. He had to protect Rhea. Atano was further away from him, fighting the Twilight. The Tauren showed no signs of letting down his guard, but the Cultists were swarming like mad ants, trying to—overrun—

He tried to sit up again, settling only to roll to his belly and push up to his hands and knees. A hand met his back, and he whipped his head around, eyes shut, trying to find the signs of someone familiar. It wasn’t anyone from their party—Kas tensed—

He paused, registering too that there’d been three new additions. An Orc woman and a Tauren man; Twilight prisoners, and—

And one Twilight guard, a Night Elf man. The one checking if he was fine.

Kas grunted, staggering to his feet, trying to brush off the man’s hand—but the guard had already brought it away, standing smoothly with him, his Night Elf frame slim but easily a foot and a half taller. He was a quick fellow—

Kas reached for his daggers—but they weren’t in their sheathes. They’d been in his hands—

He winced, tensing for a fight. Somewhere behind him—where Atano should be, now; he’d been turned around, there were the sounds of combat—but the world was still spinning—

“Relax,” the Night Elf said, deep voice naturally calming. “I’m not your enemy. I’m not one of them.”

Kas’s eyes narrowed further in concentration—but.. if they’d try and harm him; they’d’ve swarmed him by now—and yet—if it was a ruse to drop his guard—

He warily opened his eyes.

The Night Elf’s tired face met his, agelessly handsome but weary. Dark hair spilled down his brow, and his long eyebrows were furrowed together grimly. His spare hand had moved to his shoulder–where Broderick had speared him through; trying to stem the flow of dark crimson dribbling down his completely-limp arm.

“Spy?” Kas asked, raising a brow.

The man nodded. Despite the ringing, Kas could make out still the low hum of battle. This mystery demanded his attention first.

“Who with?”

The man raised a brow.

Kas held his gaze.

“I’d rather not say right now,” the spy said slowly. “Considering–”

The spy nodded past Kas, and the rogue followed his gaze.

Rhea had summoned a pulsating bubble-wall around her party where Kas had been standing. Kas frowned and it snapped together; the Blood Elf witch up on the hillside had been casting to hit him, Rhea must’ve pulled him back and thrown up the shield. He’d been fighting the Commander–

Broderick stood where he had been, watching Kas coldly. His sword rested in the sand; he had been so close to winning. And they both knew it. He didn’t have to work for anything more, now.

Broderick’s eyes flicked past Kas, and Kas glanced around too. Rhea was standing with her arms and eyes raised up, deep in concentration and showing no sign of losing such power. From the sand below, strands of blue arcane flowed up her small Goblin form and up out of her arms; she was the body of a wondrous tree.

“Count your blessings you have her, Ghost.”

Kas turned his gaze back to the Twilight Commander, eyes narrowed to evil slits. He was suddenly aware of how he looked; battered and torn, blood starting to cake into his arms and along his cheek, running slowly down his neck and pooling around his shoulder from the cut along his face. No daggers in hand. And yet, he thought, if the barrier dropped, there was no doubt he’d choke the life out of that leering Gilnean Commander.

“Luck runs out. Yours will soon enough.”

Broderick turned away from the shield; not much more could be done, save wait out Rhea’s magic. And, knowing the Dragoness, she’d teleport them away out of harm again. So–

He grabbed his sword in hand, pulling it lazily along the sands of the desert. Kas followed his attention again–

Ye’tka was starting to recover himself from the blow Broderick had given him, rubbing away the trickle of blood from his temple and trying not to press against the growing bump. Further on, Atano still struggled with the remaining guards–and they were turning the tide.

Both of them, being further away than Kas had been, were outside Rhea’s protection.

Kas stared on grimly. There was no movement to be made; he couldn’t do anything unless Rhea dropped the barrier–

He glanced up at the hillside. Lethrena stood, poised, dark energy licking and curling the air around her. Rhea wouldn’t be dropping that barrier.

Atano and Ye’tka were at the mercy of the unmerciful now.

“Not going to call out for your friends to be spared?” the spy formerly known as “Caeon” asked, coming up to Kas’s side, still holding his arm, watching Broderick’s advance as well.

“If I do,” Kas replied with a professionally impassive tone, “it’s less chance they’ll survive. If I want them to live, he’ll make sure to kill them slowly. If I tell him to, it’s an obvious ruse. If I stay quiet, there’s the possibility he won’t.”

“Smart man,” the spy said, not bothering to turn his gaze to Kas while they spoke.

Broderick paused over by Ye’tka. The Troll shook his head, finally realizing his surroundings again–

Broderick calmly pressed the sword’s tip against his throat.

Ye’tka gulped, stopping his ascent back to his feet. His fingers twitched; he could heat up the sword and sear Broderick’s hand–or maybe have the rocks under his feet swallow him up–or shock him with electricity–

“In the time in would take you to summon your elements, shaman,” Broderick said lazily, “this sword would be buried in the sand behind your neck. Clear?”

Ye’tka nodded slowly. “Aye.”

“And while I’m not a caster, a very nice part of the Twilight training was learning how to detect when casters start to draw energy. No matter how slow.” Broderick’s eyes flickered down at Ye’tka, impressing the fact upon him.

_He’s not lying, child_ , Janako murmured into his ear.

Ye’tka took a breath and nodded, shoulders slumping in resignation. What would happen would happen. He wasn’t dead yet; that was a good sign, with the Twilight. He looked over carefully to Atano.

The Tauren was still struggling, and even with the guards clinging to him to smother his movements, he got one arm free and cracked his fist into the head of one unfortunate soul. While that one went sprawling limply back, another grabbed him around the shoulder, subduing Atano more fully, and even with the Tauren’s roars filling the air, they forced him down to his knees and then his belly on the sand, sitting on his back and legs and wrapping his arms back tight.

Broderick waited calmly. The sound of battle and movement died, and all that was left was the roar of the Tauren and the squawking of his bird, which flailed in the grasp of a lumbering Draenei male Cultist. From over the hill, Aayani came down with Lethrena, the latter still swirling with magic ready to pierce any cracks in Rhea’s guard. Broderick whistled, and Aayani trotted over, grabbing the sword from her Commander and digging the point in against Ye’tka’s neck, forcing him to arch back more with a wince, gaze wild on him.

Broderick motioned the male Draenei over closer to Atano, and the man brought the flailing bird. The Commander knelt down in the sand, clearing his throat and pulling out the Titan disk from his armor. The necklace came off, though Koree’s image, naked at Broderick’s demand and shivering in fear, remained in his mind–his hand still closed on the links of the necklace-chain.

He laid the disk on Atano’s snout, and the Tauren’s eyes widened, seeing his beloved’s image in such a state. He roared louder in a pained frenzy, straining to get up, but the guards on his back held him fast, one digging a punch into his spine and settling him back against the earth, trembling.

“You know, I learned a couple things from your Information Box’s disk, here,” Broderick said softly, voice still carrying over the desert to Kas and Rhea and all his remaining Cultists, “the first of which is that your precious Koree, whom you fashioned the Box’s avatar image after, was actually killed by some of my brethren. I would think that’s why you went so far out of your way to kill my first camp. That, and, of course, your ego that you didn’t bag Kaskaeld because of ‘our interruption,’ as if you’d stand a chance without.”

Atano snarled up at him, tears welling up in his eyes despite his will not to let them. Broderick chuckled.

“And–normally, I’d take– _immense_ –pleasure in killing you myself; taking weeks to craft a perfect medley of pain, but as it turns out, your lovely lady helped me learn the exact location and way to get to a new Waygate. The one that your broken little Sentinel–” he glanced at Rhea, “–mistakenly led us to first. But–we now have the proper one, so I’m not planning on killing you just yet.”

Kas’s eyes narrowed further. The Sentinel Orb had been found, then, by the Twilight; with luck, they hadn’t destroyed it. Broderick turned his gaze back to Atano.

“No; we’re going to wait, and we’re to give you to our Master, once he’s summoned. What he decides to do with you, I cannot begin to comprehend, but I can guarantee at least that it will be delicious agony. And–”

Broderick stood up, stretching and leaving the Titan disk on Atano’s nose, letting go of the chain and letting Koree’s shivering form vanish from sight for the first time. It didn’t matter now.

“–since we don’t have need of either your little bird or that disk anymore, we’ll have to have to get rid of them.”

“NO!” Atano yelled, thrashing, and Broderick knelt back down quickly, forcing Atano’s head back down to the sand and readjusting the metal atop his snout. Koree was trembling harder. Good.

“Careful, lad; almost lost sight of her, there.” Broderick patted the large bull on his head, humiliating him further. Tears of rage spilled down his face.

“You’ve been a fucking pain in my side,” Broderick said softer, vicious. “In all of our sides. There’s no personal vengeance I’m going to take; your life and your soul is the Master’s, but I’ll admit, I’m going to enjoy this immensely. This will more than make up for it.”

Broderick got up again, moving over to a fallen guard and grabbing a mace. The spikes on the metal ball gleamed cruelly in the sun, and Broderick motioned to the bird, then to where he knew Koree would be standing.

“Choose.”

Atano’s eyes widened. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Broderick rested the mace on his shoulder, watching the Tauren. Realization came to the hunter’s face and horror shown through his eyes. Kas and the spy watched impassively from the side; nothing they could do. Ye’tka gulped, looking between the Twilight Commander and Atano.

The Tauren looked around helplessly. His bird flailed and whined, his trusted companion. The one he’d taken care of. The one that, as Kas had said so truthfully, meant he hadn’t completely lost his morals. And Koree–

She stared at him, resigned. Beautiful. Scared. But resigned. She thought he’d choose her.

“I–”

“Choose.”

Atano looked at the two of them again, desperate.

“Atano,” Koree murmured. “Choose me. Please. I’m not even here, really; I’m just a program. If you find any other one of my kind, it’d be the same. Your pet is a real life.”

His eyes still pleaded for that not to be the case. Koree met them, accepting. He couldn’t save her; he couldn’t bring back the past. He had to move on.

He turned his gaze away, unable to bear her image anymore.

“Destroy the disk. If I have to choose. Destroy the Information disk.” His voice was low, guilty, fighting to remain emotionless.

Broderick watched him a long moment then grabbed the disk from his nose, setting it on the sand and raising the mace, bringing it down and shattering it, the small zaps and high pitched cracks from the tight machinery almost sounding like a scream. Atano shut his eyes and turned his head away as much as he could. Broderick smashed the mace down again–again–one last time, then stood, brushing the bits off of the weapon and the sand off his legs.

Atano opened his eyes, tears spilling out of them. His bird flailed and whined but it was alive.

Broderick moved over to the male Draenei and Atano’s pet, setting the mace down. The bird wriggled but Broderick still caught a hold of its head, forcing it still. It settled, wincing, looking at the Cultist then at its owner.

Broderick glanced over at Atano. The Tauren watched. Broderick smiled and patted the bird’s head–then pulled out a dagger, slicing down its throat.

Atano screamed.

The Cultists subdued him as he writhed on the ground, and the male Draenei let go of the bird. Atano’s pet made an odd wheeze, body jerking about, legs carrying it over to its owner–and it fell in the sand, twitching, looking to its master for comfort. Fear filled its innocent eyes and the light slowly faded from them, another wheeze trying in vain to draw breath, and it shuddered to stillness.

Broderick cleaned the blade nonchalantly on his arm, sheathing the blade, glancing over again at the Tauren. Atano screamed again, this one full of rage, eyes spilling out with tears, savage cords of exertion breaking in his neck, trying with all his might to get to the Commander. The guards held him down, one slamming his rifle’s butt into the base of his skull, and he fell again to the sand near his bird.

Lethrena moved over calmly, running a hand down his back and sealing his arms behind him in cords of painful, thorny darkness. The Cultists hoisted him back to standing, and this time he made no attempt to fight, eyes dull, still looking at his dead pet. Blood pooled out slowly, absorbed by the sands of the desert. A light wind blew, ruffling its feathers.

Lethrena moved over to Ye’tka, kneeling and running a hand down his back as well, far more the petting of an owner, tying him up with the same accursed thorns. Aayani’s blade moved up and he quickly moved to his feet, the sword pressed under his chin.

Broderick moved back over to look at Kas and “Caeon.” Both met his gaze with silent hatred. He chuckled softly.

“Since you have my dear ‘Caeon’ with you, Kaskaeld, let me tell you something. We’re going to New Kargath, a Horde fortress. We’re going to break through it and find our Master’s Waygate. We’re going to summon our Master and feed your friends to him. We’re going to let him corrupt your little Titan Sentinel, with its formula to end the right version of the Black Dragonflight, so that it spreads and ‘pollutes’ all the rest of the Dragonkin. And I’m telling you all of this because you’re not going to stop us.”

Broderick slowly grinned.

“Rhea could drop this shield, and you’d be annihilated. You’ll teleport away, somewhere farther from New Kargath than here, to heal up and drop off those two dead-weights.” He nodded to Rakan and Taros. “And then you’ll either meet us at that fortress and die trying to stop us, or you go running away, letting our will spread throughout the land until we find you and kill you anyway.”

He chuckled again to himself, staring them down. Kaskaeld watched grimly, Lethrena moving over and running a hand over Rhea’s shield, energy crackling along it, testing it, before Rhea murmured a soft spell, forced to indeed teleport them away.


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kas and Rhea recover at Dragon's Mouth, learning the truth behind "Caeon" and planning the next move.

Dragon’s Mouth was a frenzied buzz.

Rhea had teleported them back in the exact center of the camp, knocking over the set of stones used for their meal-fire. While the innkeeper scrambled to throw sand over the embers and charcoal, Victoria and her makeshift guards (sans the Dwarven three, who were, as Rhea and Kas learned a little later, out getting supplies) had yelped and readied themselves to attack “Caeon,” still in his Twilight robes, and the Orc and Tauren that Rhea had tossed haphazardly among them. Kas had held the guards off, and once everything had died down, they were led to the camp’s fledgling medical tent.

The staff there consisted of two beleaguered priests, both human; one older man and his young female apprentice--by the looks of things as Rhea entered, more than content to be left alone by the camp, as he looked up quickly and annoyed to the newcomers to his tent while she scrambled away from him and turned quite red in the face.

Both of them got to work very quickly, seeing Kas and more especially “Caeon.” The Night Elf’s arm was in bad shape, and he winced as soon as any contact was made--or trying to lay down, as the older man coaxed him to do. The apprentice moved over to Kas, Rhea, Rakan, and Taros, checking on them individually, while the elder priest worked on “Caeon,” not minding the man’s curses and yelps as the tears in his shoulder healed.

Kas was in by far the worst shape of those remaining, littered with his list of cuts and slices. He was bid strip off the top half of his armor, which he did quite unenthusiastically, face twitching in pain as he moved. The apprentice blushed, seeing him, but made no comments, only cleaning the numerous wounds and healing him. He made no sound as she did, and if Rhea didn’t notice the occasional wince or feel the heat from his skin, she’d’ve thought him to be a statue.

They lost an hour in the medical tent, and another at the insistence of the priests that they stay and eat lunch. “Caeon” stayed in the medical tent. The camp, quickly realizing that Rakan and Taros were victims of the Twilight and not Horde sympathizers trying to infiltrate camp, became a lot more jovial around them. Everyone had to help out to survive the desert, after all.

Rhea sat with Kas, eating her stew and thinking. Whatever thoughts she had, she kept to herself, but they both knew the gist of them anyway and they both held grimness in their eyes.

He put an arm around her, sipping up the last of his bowl. She tensed, jolted from her thoughts, then cuddled in against his side, continuing to eat in silence.

The spy finally came out of the priest’s tent and joined them at the edge of the meal-fire, eating his portion of the stew. A large bandage was wrapped around his chest and shoulder, but he was using both hands, if wincing. Rakan and Taros moved over closer to him, shy--but he was the one that had saved their lives, after all. Kas watched him a long time before he glanced up and met the rogue’s gaze.

“What?” the spy said between bites of a chunk of bread.

“You want to tell me who you’re with?”

“Nope.” The spy looked back down at the fire, eating.

“You want to tell me, then, that you’re not a Twilight double-agent ready to kill this camp the moment I head out?”

The spy glanced up again at him, then at his hands--positioned over his daggers. Kas was subtle; somehow, he’d retrieved his weapons and picked them up before they’d teleported away. The spy paused mid-chew and let out a heavy sigh.

“I work with the Requiem. You want to verify that, talk to my boss.”

“Who’s your boss?”

The spy paused again, trying for a spoonful of stew, then sat up straight with an annoyed gaze. Kas met it stoically. Rhea watched the spy as well. The Night Elf cleared his throat and glanced out at the desert.

“Commander Leejael Moonleaf, from Stormwind’s fallen Fifth Battalion.”

“He died in Northrend,” Rhea said, voice hard. The spy glanced her way, raising a brow. “They all did.”

The spy watched her a moment then nodded slightly. “I keep forgetting you’re not--” He motioned at his face, then looked around camp and cleared his throat. Not a Goblin, but the camp didn’t need to hear that.

“Yes,” he said finally. “But some, like the Commander, were cherry-picked by Arthas to be his undead soldiers. Then that dark influence got out of his head, and boom. He’s my Commander now.”

“In the Requiem,” Kas said. The spy nodded. Kas stared at him.

“You have no idea what that is, do you?” the spy said.

Kas shook his head.

The spy sighed. “I suppose it’s not technically secret; we just try not to publicize ourselves much--the Requiem was set up by the High Priestess; Lady Whisperwind, not too long ago, to deal with the onslaught of death and restless spirits in the world. It’s supposed to be peaceful, but--well, in recent times especially, what with the goddamn Twilight, we’ve extended our--mission statement, if you will. I’m the resident spy.”

“Why blow your cover?” Kas asked.

“Because I had two people to get out of there,” the spy said plainly, “and seeing your party, you had a way out. And, if I stayed, I probably would either be unable to get my two out, or be discovered, or both.”

He lowered his voice. “They did find an Old God. They do know a way to summon it. They probably will, at New Kargath. It’s specialty is seeing through ruses, if you will; Yrr’jaiish the Seer.”

“Never heard of it,” Rhea said, staring at the spy.

The spy raised a brow. “What do you want from me, ma’am; it’s probably some lower pantheon weird piece of shit--either way, that witch Lethrena’s going to try and manipulate the spell to bring it into this world and ensnare it to doing her bidding. Her and Broderick are fucking like rabbits and the rest of the Cultists there have the wool pulled over their eyes about their wonderful leaders.”

“He’s telling the truth,” Rakan said from the edge of their meal-fire, looking anxious. Taros’s hand was in hers. She was squeezing it, and the young bull had lost the train of conversation, looking at her with soft eyes.

“Maybe about that,” Kas said calmly. “Have you heard of this ‘Requiem’ to corroborate everything else?”

“I have.”

Their gazes swiveled to Ivan, the Worgen innkeeper there. The large man was sitting in his tent near them, shy despite his large man-wolf appearance.

“And?” Rhea said, voice soft and encouraging.

“When I first came from Gilneas, I thought-- well, I.. I thought I would be considered a freak. I went down to Darkshire with most of my townsfolk, and, uh-- well, the-- there was an outbreak. Someone bit someone somewhere or something, and feral Worgen--like me--” he motioned with his large paws at his face and chest-- “only-- feral-- ran wild. Packs of them. There was a couple that I knew that lived up in the hills by Deadwind Pass; young folk trying for a baby, but I went up there after the outbreak and they’d been--”

Ivan paused, then sighed softly, shoulders hunching.

“Their spirits weren’t all that pleasant, or that happy, especially to a Worgen like me. Even though it was me; they were blind and furious. I kept trying to appease them, but.. And then, one day, a man showed up. Night Elf guy, dressed in pitch black armor, freezing cold. Very pale ears coming out of his helm, and two eyes like ice, illuminated in the dark. Tabard--a purple skull against black. He went up there, did something or other, and they passed on. I asked what the tabard, he said somethin’ about ‘requiem.’ Some townsfolk knew him; thanked him for dealing with their dead too.”

“That’d be the Commander,” the spy said, going back nonchalantly to his food.

Rhea glanced up wearily at Kas. He was unconvinced--but he also was paranoid. She looked over at Ivan, studying the wolf’s expression. He was being sincere. She glanced back at the spy.

“Hey.”

He glanced up at her, pausing mid-chew.

He was being sincere as well. Eyes couldn’t lie as easily as words could.

She sighed. “Relax, Kas.” Her bodyguard glanced down at her then did as he was told. She settled in at his side, nuzzling his chest, taking a breath and trying to rest while there was still time to. They’d have to go soon--

Kas kissed her head then stood up, moving out of reach. “I should go.”

She blinked up at him. “What?”

“If this guy’s telling the truth,” Kas said, looking at the spy then her, “then I should chase after them as fast as possible, and maybe I can catch them and stop this--”

Rhea stood up sharply, not nearly as tall but cutting him off nonetheless.

“You’re not going alone, Kas--”

“I’m not,” he said gently, then glanced at the spy again. “Eat and finish up--”

Rakan and Taros protested, but the voices that finally cut through were the priests, coming down from their tent for food as well. He wasn’t going anywhere, Kas was informed, due to injuries. And that was final.

“That wasn’t what I meant, Kas!”

The Gilnean rogue turned back to see Rhea frowning up at him. She smacked the side of his leg hard, and despite the strength he had, he winced, surprised.

“I’m coming with you. Idiot.”

“Rhea--” he blinked, then steeled his features. “Rhea, I don’t know if I can keep you safe, if it’s as bad as he said. I don’t know if I can keep myself safe--”

“Which is why I’m coming with--”

“Rhea--if I die saving these people, then it will be the one decent act I’ve done in my life!” His brow trembled; for once, she thought, she could see the damage peaking through his walls. “I’m not more important than everyone here; everyone on this whole continent, potentially!”

“YOU ARE TO ME!”

Her voice echoed with the power of a Dragon, falling away slowly over the desert expanse. The wind rolled through, soft and shrill. No one in camp said anything; everyone watched, eyes wider than normal.

A blush stole across her face, but she held her gaze on him, stubborn and angry--

Kas’s own stubbornness broke, and his face danced with emotions she hadn’t seen on him before. Confusion stole over his brow, his mask of stoicism down; caught completely off-guard--and his face trembled as the start of tears shivered into his eyes.

Her anger broke, and she blinked, relaxing herself from the hunched tenseness she realized she’d been advancing on him with. She reached up, taking one hand.

“Did you really think you _weren’t_ , Kas?”

He made no reply, gulping and forcing his face back to its stoic pattern, but his eyes weren’t lying, shining through someone who had no idea he was worth anything, even to her. She sighed and squeezed his hand.

“One of us--either of us--would die, going alone. That’s a-given. If we both go, Kas, then we have a chance of surviving this. I’m not running either; I want to keep these people safe--but I want you to be safe. I’m tougher than I look, and I’ve been fighting longer than you’ve been alive.” She squeezed his hand again, harder. “So we’ll look out for each other, and dammit, we’ll live. Yes?”

He nodded softly. She smiled up at him, weak but encouraging, and he managed the same, face still twitching not to cry. She wanted bad to smack him upside the head, earlier--but now all she wanted was to curl up and hold him to her breast. To let him break around her, so that she could help him rebuild and be healthy and loved. It wasn’t her job, making him better; there were so many people she couldn’t make better, but she had the opportunity, and--

And it was time to head out, if they wanted to save the Badlands.

She sighed, letting go of his hands, and the camp helped them pack up bags to go. Food, water, cloaks for the night winds, medical supplies.

They bid farewell to Dragon’s Mouth once again, and headed out north across the desert.


	44. Chapter 44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ye'tka thought the day as a Twilight prisoner was rough. It's nothing compared to the illicitness of the night.

The day had been hell itself.

Ye’tka trudged on, prisoner of the Twilight, thanking the Gods under his breath when they finally made camp for the night. He almost collapsed to the ground--they had neither rested under the grueling desert sun nor been provided with food or water since the start of their sojourn. He had no company in Atano; the Tauren was shattered.

But, darkness had fallen along the desert, and they finally could rest.

Aayani had come over to both Atano and him, lifting canteens to their lips, murmuring that they should be only the best sacrifices for the Master Yrr’jaiish. Atano drank listlessly. Ye’tka shuddered as the Draenei goat-woman approached, but nonetheless drank the water as if it were breastmilk and he a wailing babe.

The guards had not dropped their defenses around Atano at all, despite Ye’tka knowing from his ancestor’s murmurs that the Tauren wasn’t acting. The large bull was defeated, and he lay down quietly in the desert sand on his back amidst the guards, looking up at the stars.

Ye’tka got up from where he’d been sitting to go over to him--

The male Draenei that had been holding Atano’s pet--the most attentive guard to keep an eye on the bull; the largest Twilight guard of the four remaining, not counting Broderick, Lethrena, or Aayani--held up a strong hand. It covered most of Ye’tka’s chest, and Ye’tka paused in place, looking at the broader man shyly.

“I jus’ wanna make sure he’s okay, mon.”

The male Draenei shook his head in small motions, eyes hard.

Ye’tka sighed, making his way back to where he’d been sitting at the edge of one tent, using the taut fabric against his back. Broderick was speaking to Aayani about something, nonplussed. Ye’tka didn’t know or particularly care what it was.

The Twilight had to leave their dead for once, in order to make it to Yrr’jaiish with any speed. Kas and Atano had put an end to five of their numbers--which was more than Broderick had been counting on, Ye’tka thought. Aayani, the healer-goat, had not been that pleased leaving them, especially since she insisted that at least one, who had been inches from death due to a head-wound, could be saved; but for time, Broderick had said that the guard would’ve been glad to give his life for the Master’s return. He probably would’ve been, Ye’tka thought, as would any of the remaining people--even Aayani, despite her strange juxtaposition between healing and nihilism.

They’d made quite a bit of distance, which Ye’tka was nervous about. Broderick hadn’t been joking that Rhea and Kas would probably not catch up.

Ye’tka watched the desert grimly. Whatever would happen now… it wasn’t up to him anymore. If he joined his ancestors, that was the best he could hope for, at this point; if he was devoured by that creature, though, there was a chance his soul wouldn’t be around even to join the dead.

He shut his eyes, trying to rest.

.    .    .

Ye’tka was woken by Janako murmuring into his ear. His eyes opened weakly, and he glanced around. The night was intense in the desert; the stars out, glistening in the sky. The air was cooler, and he shivered once. The Twilight had made camp in the space between two large boulders, and the area itself was darker than the usual desert night.

_She’s coming. On your guard._

Janako murmured his warning again then slipped away quickly. Ye’tka frowned, blinking sleep from his eyes, and listened.

Soft voices from the camp. He was still leaning against the tent towards the edge of the camp. He glanced around cautiously, focusing.

Lethrena was awake, convincing the guard on-duty in low tones that, due to the small number of proper guards they had left, she should be allowed to take a shift. The guard mumbled a half-assed argument against it, but consented finally, exhausted. Ye’tka’s heart plummeted, knowing why she wanted to be alone; he was there to bend and break. He’d defied her; she’d see how long that would last, now.

The guard went to bed, and Ye’tka steeled himself, taking deep breaths and trying to calm his heart. Adrenaline coursed through him, and he shivered to keep himself still.

Lethrena waited a long time--long enough to ensure the guard was asleep, before moving around the camp to Ye’tka. He didn’t bother pretending to sleep; he knew she’d see through that instantly. He made his gaze as hard as he could.

She came to stand just above him, legs spread slightly to be on either side of his. Even in the darkness, he could see her smirk, illuminated by her glowing green eyes.

“You’re persistent, shaman. I like that. It makes me feel secure that you’d be loyal, once you’re mine.”

Lethrena knelt down, straddling him and moving to rest high up on his thighs, watching him intently. Ye’tka’s blood hammered through his skull, and every bit of concentration went to remaining as still and relaxed as possible.

“Not going to say anything?” The witch curled one delicate hand up his chest and neck to rest under his chin, tilting his head ever so to watch her.

“What’s there to be said?” He made his voice as cold as it was soft.

She tsked and teased her finger under his chin, caressing. “We have a lot we could discuss, dear man. Different styles of magic, if you want to be the intellectual type. Different styles of love-making, if you want your reward so soon.”

“Different types of morality?”

She grinned, fangs gleaming, and moved close to his ear. “If you want to play hard-to-get.” Her lips met his ear lightly, soft and full.

His face twitched hard but he suppressed a shudder from running through his body.

“Aw, someone has been preparing for this,” Lethrena said, moving back so he could see her fully, slowly undoing the ties on the side of her robe. “You’re only torturing yourself, Ye’tka; I really will give you whatever you want.”

“But not for nothing.”

“Of course not. That’d be foolish. You do alchemy; you know that. The law of equivalent exchange. I’m willing to do anything you want; anything at all, but you have to do what I want too.”

“You’d bind me to that. If I say yes; if we do anytin’ just now--you’d work dat energy raised-- as enchantment-- and tie me down.”

Lethrena smirked. “You _did_ prepare for this. So we’ll talk intellectually; yes. If you agree, you get me; my body, and I use our passion to tie you to my will.” She ran a hand down his cheek, and he again suppressed a shiver, though his face twitched harder.

“You’re already breaking, dear.”

Ye’tka narrowed his eyes. “Go back ta fuckin’ your boss.”

“Oof.” Lethrena pouted. “You are being cold. Maybe I could warm you up?”

She pulled her robe open from the side, exposing her chest, belly soft and skin sweetly pure, breasts his to see. He grimaced and looked away. She put a light hand on his tusk, pulling his gaze back firmly. He looked up instead at her eyes--so cunning and so distant. Impassionate.

“I’m not int’rested in your warmth,” he spat at her.

She smirked, squirming closer on his lap. His face twitched longer and harder--she sat herself directly on his hips. Her smirk widened and she tilted his head up, kissing his neck in achingly faint strokes. He grit his teeth, hissing out defiance.

“You are being so very obstinate, Ye’tka Qoatoll,” she murmured against his skin. “It’s very attractive.”

“It’s-- attractive-- to break a man’s will. And when you’re tired-- because you’ve lost-- den it’s-- such a blow to dat inflated fuckin’ ego-- and it’ll sting, you bi--HH--!”

Lethrena sank her fangs into his neck, and his guard broke, body shivering hard. She purred, pulling back and licking over the wound, slow, tongue rolling over him like he was a delicacy.

“I win round one, Troll.”

She smirked, moving back and watching him. He shuddered, letting out a breath, blood pounding through his face.

“You’re very cute when you try so hard and you fail.” A hand met the side of his face and caressed, and it took all he had not to lean into it. “And I know you won’t fail me. You’ll do just what I want, when I want--and I’ll do the same for you.”

Her hand moved down to his throat, squeezing lightly. His breath caught, and his gaze shifted out of focus for a moment.

“All you have to do,” she murmured, “is consent to me, Ye’tka.”

She eased up the pressure of her hand, and he gasped hard for breath, shivering under her. Lethrena’s purrs filled his mind, clouding, and yet--

“If-- If I-- I don’t-- even if you-- if you-- if-- then-- you won’t-- it won’t work-- so fuck you-- fuck--”

She chuckled, kissing under the line of his jaw. He grit his teeth hard again.

“You’re right,” she said softly. “If you don’t consent with me, and you don’t share your energy, then we can’t bond just right. So potentially, we could just… go our separate ways, after.” She moved up against his ear, breath hot. “And do you really think I’d let you in me if I hadn’t broken you already?”

He didn’t need to see her to know she wore a cruel grin.

“No; this, Ye’tka, is going to be either the longest night of your life, or the best. It’s your choice.”

He let out a hard breath, watching her, shivering but determined. She smirked and purred, running her hands over him.

.    .    .

The morning came.

Ye’tka sat, shivering hard against the corner of the tent. He was clothed again, and his breath came as ragged pants. The guards dismissed it, not knowing the truth. He squirmed and shuddered and felt light-headed, wanting almost to cry but not finding the tears.

He had gotten no sleep, aching and fighting not to give in to her.

The outline of a hard slap still stung on his face.

He looked up weakly at the dawn, and a smile broke against his pained features. He chuckled, soft, then louder, until the whole camp heard his laughter. It broke out against the pink sky; peals of mad hilarity. Aayani woke and frowned, hoping their sacrifice hadn’t gone completely insane.

And in her tent, Lethrena cried silent tears of shame and wrath, curled up against her mate. She’d have to clean herself up before he woke. Nothing would drown out the Troll’s laughter. She had lost her prey. He had made it.


	45. Chapter 45

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Broderick meets Nyxondra's forces at New Kargath, and together they fight to find the Waygate to the Old God Yrr'jaiish.

Ye’tka’s laughter had dulled down again by the time the Twilight were off to their travels that day, but he still shuddered with a smirk as his eyes wandered over to Broderick’s scowling mate. Aayani kept a close eye on him and Atano, trying to ensure that they wouldn’t be too out-of-shape; sacrifices, after all, needed to be in peak condition.

They walked all morning and into midday, the hot sun almost causing a delirium until the healer-woman relented and made the party pause to give their prisoners a rest and a drink in the shade of some boulders. Atano said nothing, still listlessly gazing at nothing, but Ye’tka, the only one there unused to pushing himself to endure that much, was losing his humor fast as the aches piled on in his joints. The break was short, however, and they continued on.

Another hour paused in the hellish march, until they came across the sight of the cliffs of jagged stone that provided the Badlands desert with a northern wall. Broderick paused them, frowning, then continued on at an even brisker pace.

Against the backdrop of the cliffs, the fortress of New Kargath sat, black and powerful, twisting spires spiked with steel and ash. Large walls towered, formidable, and the smoke of numerous fires raised high above into the cloudless sky.

And, Ye’tka observed with a frown, the front gates had been cracked open and thrown off their large hinges, a group of Black Dragons assaulting the fort.

The party sped along quickly through the sands. The clamor of battle and the stench of burning blood came to their senses, growing closer and closer. Ye’tka didn’t need his ancestors to warn him against going there; his mind yelled for his feet to stop, but if he did, it would simply result in the guards urging him painfully on. He wandered on, one foot in front of the next, trudging as slowly as he dared without getting a jab to the back. Next to him, Atano didn’t seem to see any difference in the world—but, Ye’tka could tell, his anger had come back, and the quiet distance he’d put up was a mask now.

But Ye’tka knew just as well as Atano that there was no use fighting. Only Rhea and Kas could save them now—or a miracle that wasn’t coming.

The bipedal humanoid black-scaled Wyrmguards noticed Broderick’s approaching party and screeched out something to their higher-ups, preparing for a fight. Broderick didn’t slow his pace, but held up his hands, empty, yelling out words that twisted in Ye’tka’s ears and made him wince. Words of corruption; words to recognize those peers who knew the ways of corruption.

A huge Black Dragoness came out from the gates, a flailing Orc guard in her teeth, and Ye’tka shuddered as her jaws closed tighter and the sickening crunch echoed out to his ears. She spat out the dead soldier and trotted slowly out to the edge of her guards to meet Broderick’s party—shifting to the visage of a tall, bone-white woman with vicious red eyes and jet black hair. Her robes whispered off of her form and into the ground, licking and curling like mist in the darkness.

Broderick stopped in front of her, bowing curtly and kissing her hand. “Commander Broderick Redmane and some of the finest guards the Twilight have to offer, my Lady, quite pleased to make your acquaintance.”

The Dragoness watched him a long moment then a cruel smile curled up the edge of her thin lips.

“Nyxondra of the Black Dragonflight, at your service. I’m looking for the most vile Red. An egg-stealer; a defiler named—”

“Rheastrasza, my Lady Nyxondra?” Broderick said, holding back a smirk as he straightened again.

Nyxondra tilted her head, a low growl filling the air against the smash of metal.

“You know my prey?”

“She’s with prey of mine, my Lady. In fact—”

Broderick turned, looking at Atano—then Ye’tka. The Troll’s heart sank.

“—I have two here that she’ll be following soon enough. One who, I believe, helped her defile your eggs.”

Nyxondra’s gaze slowly turned to Ye’tka. “Oh?”

Ye’tka tightened his jaw. Die here fighting; die in agony later to the Master; die years from now in the slim chance that Rhea and Kas would make it. His eyes hardened, seeing yet another enemy. He was tired of dealing with them. Fuck it.

“Aye,” he said calmly. Nyxondra narrowed her eyes to slits.

“And I took the greatest pleasha in doin’ it,” he continued. Atano glanced shyly his way, the animosity from the Troll a little frightening--and quite wondrous to see, when not directed at him. “Because even if those babies don’ come to dis world livin’, at least they’re with a betta motha.”

Nyxondra snarled, stalking up to him, her misty robe lashing out and hissing to nothingness on the sand. Broderick scowled at the Troll. Ye’tka straightened his back, towering over even Atano, staring down coldly at the Dragoness. Arms behind his back or not, he commanded authority. She stopped in place, still a pace out of reach, seething.

“Commander Redmane,” Nyxondra murmured, voice like broken glass for Ye’tka to tread on, “have you need of both of these lesser maggots to lure my enemy?”

Broderick took a breath and let it out slowly. “A pleasure as it would be to watch you torture him for his insolence, my Lady, I’m afraid I must inform you that both of their lives are for my Master, whose Waygate is under this petty establishment.”

Nyxondra hissed then spat on Ye’tka’s chest, the saliva minorly corrosive and set with her dragon-fire. Ye’tka was used to the elements. He kept himself taut--behind his back, he gripped his hands together hard, but he didn’t allow even the smallest twitch in his face. Nyxondra curled backwards, stalking back to her troops.

“You say your Master is under this puny fortress?”

Broderick moved to her side, arms folded behind his back. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Wonderful,” the Black Dragoness said, face still twitching in wrath. “Let’s hurry to him and dispose of your wretches then.”

Broderick smiled softly, unsheathing his sword, starting into the fray. His guards quickly joined.

Atano moved over shyly to Ye’tka’s side as the Troll curved his back down naturally again. Ye’tka glanced up. Atano paused, shy.

“What?” Ye’tka said softly.

“I just-- you’re all right?”

Ye’tka raised a brow. “My heart’s hammerin’ like a mad Dwarf on an anvil, an’ my chest’s now burnin’ from her spit. I’m probably goin’ ta be the plaything of a bored Old God, an’ spend the next thousand years in the highest possible amount of agony possible. I’m jus’ great, mon.”

Atano blinked, started to say something, then shut his mouth again. Shy. Ye’tka shook his head slightly, not bothering to think about why the Tauren showed such an interest now, and Aayani urged them forward hard to the back of the line of Wyrmguards.

Ahead of them, Broderick proved his worth, slashing through the oncoming Orcs. Wyrmguards and his own withered group of Twilight flanked him, but he himself stayed against the heat of battle, carving through enemies mercilessly. Where one got the rare drop on him, Lethrena blasted it back off-balance from behind her mate, and Broderick sank his blade into it with a wild grin.

Nyxondra watched on, cold.

One of the Wyrmguards glanced back at her. “My Lady. We know now that Rheastrasza, despite being in the visage of a Goblin, isn’t here. Shall we keep up our efforts here or pull back and save the risk of any losses?”

“We have new friends, don’t we?” Nyxondra said, glancing to her soldier. “They’ll bring our Red to us. Let us clear space so they find their Master. If any of you die here, you’re not worthy enough to stay a part of this army.”

The Wyrmguard saluted and rushed back to the fray, tackling down two unfortunate Horde soldiers and tearing into them. Nyxondra swept her malicious gaze over the crowd, settling it behind her on the insolent Troll worm.

Ye’tka met her eyes without so much as a bead of sweat on his brow.

The progress was slow, but the invading army slashed and stabbed its way through. Lethrena went still, then barked out directions, peeling off down one pathway out of the main square of the fortress to a much tighter alleyway. Broderick hissed and followed his mate, his guards following with their prisoners. Nyxondra barked out an order and the majority of her forces stayed put, battling against the onslaught of the fortress’s soldiers, outnumbered but taking almost no damage at all, it seemed. She followed quickly, flanked by two Wyrmguards.

Lethrena led on, Broderick trying hard to overtake her and go first to protect her. He broke into a sprint as an Orc yelled, cutting her off at a corner--

Lethrena held up a hand, and a bolt of lime green energy blasted through the Orc’s head, throwing its body off its feet and crashing to the ground.

Broderick paused a moment then followed her at a normal pace. Behind him, Nyxondra smirked.

Lethrena led them down a series of winding streets and into a building against the edge of the cliff-side, not pausing at all before descending into the earth. Broderick gave no hesitation as well, and his trailing party followed suit. Down the steps they descended, until finally she led them to a dead end. Her gaze was fixated against a corner wall in the foundation.

“There?” Broderick asked, coming to her side.

She nodded, glancing back at him.

Nyxondra moved to their side. “If I may do the honors?”

The two of them paused, looking to her. She smirked, looking at the wall. Pathetic. They nodded, stepping back. Nyxondra inhaled deeply--

\--then reeled forward, a jet of white-hot fire bursting forth from her mouth, crashing into the wall intensely and barely licking off to the side. The room became a furnace, sweltering, and Atano especially winced, his fur heavy. Nyxondra held the jet of flame steady, the wall quickly turning to liquid and shuddering away to nothingness, the solid wall of the the cliff behind it lighting up red and dripping back--back--

Nyxondra’s flame broke through, and the low echo of wind suddenly rushing through came to their ears.

The Dragoness straightened, the flame dying, leaving the room an inferno around her, a smirk on her face as she turned and saw Broderick’s prey sweating profusely through the haze. The Twilight were trained to deal with heat. Those wretches weren’t.

“After you,” she said politely, turning her gaze back to Broderick. He bowed his thanks, waiting a moment for the rock to cool so as not to burn anyone of his party, then headed forward into the newly exposed yawning tunnel of stone.


	46. Chapter 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lethrena tries to summon Yrr'jaiish from the second Waygate to unexpected results...

As soon as Lethrena saw the Waygate in the dim lighting, she knew there was something behind it. It wasn’t in the middle of any elaborate chamber like the last had been; this one was in the middle of the simple descending path of stone, at the end as it came down far into the earth. It had held together in darkness for so long--but she knew immediately it was holding infinitely more power than any other Titan object she’d come across.

Beyond it was a minor deity of the Oldest pantheon. One she would enslave to her will and use to wipe out everyone else there, save Broderick. Even that bastard Troll would die.

She got to work quickly.

Broderick started to protest, but she replied without even a second glance to him that there were no traps on this one. The Commander bit his tongue, wondering how she knew that, but let her work. A bead of sweat, unseen, rolled down his back. Should this fail for whatever reason, both he and his mated would have a major problem.

She had seen the future. They were happy. He contented himself with the thought that it would work, and he smiled to himself, easing his breathing but not his heart as it still raced.

Lethrena moved around the stone edifice of the Waygate, murmuring soft words and sprinkling reagents from her personal traveling sack onto its base. The Twilight guards came over, lighting makeshift torches, standing in a circle around her and holding up their lights to give her as best visibility as possible, despite her elven eyes being able to acclimatize to the dark. She was lost to the world, rushing about without any mistakes, murmuring and doubling back to sprinkle another round of enchantments.

Nyxondra moved up smoothly to Broderick’s side.

“She’s quite something to watch, hm?”

“Mm.” Broderick kept his pulse slow, trying to only look like an overseer. “She’s a very good second-in-command.”

“I can imagine. Do you think this will take long?”

Broderick glanced at the Dragoness. She met his gaze with a sadistic charm.

“I’d quite like to watch that Troll suffer soon.”

“Keep waitin’, bitch,” Ye’tka muttered--still loud enough for them all to hear--before Broderick could reply. Nyxondra turned her seething eyes towards him, and he met them with indifference, yawning.

Broderick cleared his throat. “I can personally assure you, ma’am, that while I don’t think this will be quick, it will more than be worth the wait.”

Nyxondra let out a breath, growling demonically as she did, then turned back to watch Broderick’s mate at work again.

Lethrena stepped into the middle of the Waygate and knelt down, murmuring fast and fervent as she drew intricate patterns throughout the reagents, mixing and swirling them together. She adjusted each level to the most perfect it could be, not needing to worry for any wind. The whole area was still as a sepulcher, and as grim as one too. If Broderick did not see his mate move every so often in her work, he might’ve mistaken his eyes to have stopped--or be looking at a painting. Even the flames of his guards were perfectly still.

After half an hour, Lethrena finally moved out of the circle, taking a firm breath and rubbing her hands together. Broderick took a sharp breath and gulped, watching her. She licked her lips, shut her eyes, took another breath and held it, centering herself, then slowly let it out, sighing like the last breath of a dying woman.

Her eyes opened again, dull and focused. Ready. Mind empty save for the task at hand. She raised her arms, voice ringing out low and even with her mouth shut, humming along the stone and reverberating through the spaces in Broderick’s mind. The syllable rolled out to a fuller sound as she opened her mouth, a cascade of sound as she spoke ancient words with her elven tongue, dancing and echoing and bouncing all creating the effect of mirrors of sound--repeating the same line again, again, letting the echoes whisper along, a chorus of one--her volume raised, as did her arms, the words suddenly changing, harsher but flowing fast, a call for the Master, a call to bind It to this place and plane, a call for all that energy beyond to come, to come--

The whole rock room around them vibrated, bursting in and out of focus with the power she was drawing down. Broderick took a firm breath to remain calm, the shadows from the guards’ still flames starting to dance wildly, turning and spinning round the Waygate like a carousel off its hinges. Nyxondra next to him let out another low growl, this one of intrigue as she leaned in, admiring the Blood Elf’s prowess.

Lethrena raised her voice to a shout, the cavern shivering with her will, the noise deafening but Broderick not needing to cover his ears, the Waygate’s runes bursting into a thousand points of light, a hum of old technology stirring back to life filling the air and cutting under Lethrena’s spell--

She roared the final word, bringing her hands down in a crash--

The Waygate’s center circle platform erupted into a bolt of blinding light.

Even Lethrena herself winced and shut her eyes, shielding them. The cavern shook with power; the Old God called. It would be hers to command!

The brilliance illuminating the cavern died away, and echoes of roaring thunder made their way out of the cavern to the surface air. All went still again.

Lethrena and the rest opened their eyes. They opened wide.

The Waygate had died down still again.

And there was nothing that had come through.

Anger exploded across her brow, and she couldn’t stop herself from yelling. Despite her beautiful first language, Broderick and all the rest could tell that she was hurling the foulest obscenities she had at the Titan’s creation. Nyxondra pleasantly raised a brow, listening in with a purr.

Lethrena finally stopped to draw breath, shoulders hunched up, breathing hard and seething, turning and stalking back past Broderick and the smug-looking Ye’tka and up a ways in the cavern, sitting down against a wall and trying hard to catch her breath. The guards all followed with shy glances, looking to Broderick to excuse such an outburst.

The Commander cleared his throat. “I do believe the pressure of-- calling upon a Master was quite a lot, on my Second.” The guards nodded slowly, and he made his way over to her, kneeling before her and speaking in low, gentle terms.

Ye’tka chuckled, letting everyone--especially her--hear it.

Broderick said something-- “NO!” she yelled, “IT WAS RIGHT!”

He held up his hands defensively, murmuring other soft things the rest of them couldn’t hear. The guards shuffled anxiously on their feet, glancing at the Titan pillars. The Waygate was silent and as placid as ever.

“NO,” Lethrena hissed at him in reply to something else. “It wasn’t something I DID! Yrr’jaiish didn’t come through!”

Broderick said something soft, and Lethrena paused, still panting hard, but turning her gaze down, thoughts coming to mind. Nyxondra and the rest watched on.

“If it didn’t come through,” Lethrena murmured to her mate, “then either something stopped it, which isn’t right, or--”

“Or?” Broderick murmured.

Lethrena paled. “Or it already did, and the power I was feeling beyond that Waygate was just residual.”

Broderick steeled his jaw, feeling a chill run through him. He took a long breath and resisted hard the urge to caress his mate’s cheek and comfort her.

“Whatever happens, that future is ours, Lethrena,” he whispered.

She nodded softly, wiping off the angry tears from her eyes, and accepted his hands as he stood, helping her up to her feet again.

From the head of the tunnel, a commotion. “Lady Nyxondra!..” came echoing. One of the Wyrmguards.

Nyxondra moved quickly up to where Broderick and Lethrena were standing, meeting the soldier as it ran down to meet them, panting. She straightened herself.

“Report.”

“Ma’am!” it hissed, snapping to attention. “Look-out spotted two people coming from the south! A Human male dressed all in white and a Goblin woman in robes!”

Nyxondra growled, a grin curling up her features. “Rheastrasza.”

“And Kaskaeld,” Broderick murmured. Nyxondra glanced at him, then looked back to her guard.

“Get ready for them.”

The guard nodded then ran back up the tunnel. Broderick took a deep breath. His heart still raced at the implications that Yrr’jaiish had gotten out without his summoning It--but the new prospect of both of his enemies here to dispose of painfully gave him enough peace of mind that he could live with whatever stresses might come.

One way or another, this would all come to an end soon enough.


	47. Chapter 47

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhea and Kas advance on the besieged fortress of New Kargath. Enemies come from all sides...

Heat rose from the desert sands as the Wyrmguards screeched and charged at the quiet party of two approaching New Kargath. Rhea narrowed her eyes, pupils shifting a firm blue a moment as the arcane surged in her chest, then roared and blasted away the first thin wave of oncoming soldiers. They crashed and rolled through the sand, dazed, and Kas pounced forward, unsheathing his daggers midway to them and slamming the blades through the softer scaly flesh under their chins.

Rhea continued on grimly towards the gate.

The second wave of guards roared, whirling their spears and charging, trying to cut off Kas from her. She murmured a word of power, pointing, and a bolt smashed through the leg of the one closest Kas, felling it to the ground. The Gilnean vaulted over it, stabbing cleanly down as he did, taking out that target, blind-siding the next and forcing it to stumble backward into its comrade. The further soldier hissed and raised its spear to attack–

Rhea held up her other hand, a series of arcane bolts shooting off rapid-fire and knocking the guard off-balance. Kas ducked under one swing, slicing along ribs and finding the chinks in the armor, bringing one hand up and burying it in the tissue of the soldier’s throat. The one Rhea had knocked back scrambled back up, dazed, only to receive Kas’s boot to the jaw. Rhea paid them no mind as Kas knelt quickly to finish it off, never once changing the tempo of her walk towards the gates.

They rounded the edge of the fortress’s broken entrance and finally she paused.

Chaos met them; Black Dragonflight Wyrmguards pounding against the forces of New Kargeth, outnumbered but leaving the Horde soldiers in desperation, Orcs yelling and rushing and dying against the barren rock ground. Rhea looked on grimly, Kas next to her with his eyes shut in the concentration of battle.

“They mean business,” she murmured before looking up to him. “I recognize the armor. The troops are under the command of General Jirakka and his champion, Moldarr. They must be stopped. Usually we Dragons don’t take squabbles in the petty wars between the Horde and the Alliance–they must’ve be looking for me, here. Even if we beat them back, it’ll still be enemies on all sides, for you, Kas.”

“I’m used to it,” he murmured.

She gulped then nodded, glancing back at the fray. “If possible, try not to kill any Orcs. It’ll help them realize we’re allies faster.”

“If possible.”

She nodded again, going into the fray.

Kas darted ahead of her, tackling down one Wyrmguard from its Orc prey and stabbing through vital spots before the Orc knew what was happening. The bewildered Horde grunt blinked at the smaller Human form then yelled an alarm to its brethren. Rhea sighed under her breath, moving to the soldier and trying to calm him, but he gave her no more than a second glance; she wasn’t the strangest sight in the whole place.

Kas spent no time dealing with the Horde soldiers, instead grabbing the fallen Wyrmguard’s spear and hurling it through the chest of another. It shrieked, and its companions finally caught sight of the rogue. Two peeled off from the Orc crowd, whirling to face him and almost slicing open his belly. A stab went viciously for his face, and he ducked, only to have the second cut part of his shoulder. He winced, stepping back–

And ducked the swing of the first Orc soldier’s axe, the brute snarling at him. One of the Wyrmguards swung at the Orc, the other chasing Kas–

Rhea yelled another word of might, more bolts flying from her palm and crashing into Kas’s Wyrmguard pursuer. It yelped, battered and hissing in pain, only growing louder as Kas smashed a fist into its knee, buckling it the wrong way. It fell hard and dazed to the ground, rolling back before Kas could do anything.

Another set of Orcs charged Rhea’s bodyguard. Kas ducked out of one axe’s path, jabbing ribs and weaker spots; Rhea’s attention pulled away to a rushing Wyrmguard–met with a deluge of bolts to the face, knocking it down and not stopping until the Goblin woman towered over its motionless form. Kas turned the daggers in his hand, jabbing the rounded metal end of the hilt hard into one Orc’s neck, letting it stagger off wincing and coughing to fall to its knees–the other trying to carve him in two–

He jumped back, slamming the metal ball hilt into the Orc’s third-eye point in the center of its forehead, sending it reeling back in pain.

The fallen Wyrmguard grabbed Kas’s leg, pulling him hard over onto the ground. Rhea yelled his name, rushing over–

Kas roared, flailing like a wild beast, bringing the dagger down hard into the Wyrmguard’s eye. The soldier made a loud, godawful sound, blessedly silencing as Kas rolled over on top of it and dug the dagger in, vicious with primal rage.

Rhea gulped, but turned her gaze back quickly to the fight.

With their help, the Orcs were now at least even. Rhea blasted another Wyrmguard in the back, pausing its onslaught enough for a huge axe to burst its head down the middle like a watermelon at Midsummer. The Orcs overpowered the last two, circling them and cutting off their screeches shortly after.

Rhea glanced around–Kas had mostly vanished, but she could make the faint trace of his armor’s white reflectance moving up towards a ramp of stone at the center of the fort. Higher ground; where any General would command by.

The Orcs turned to her, panting, few left in their number. “MAGE!” the acting leader called out. “You’re with a Human! Where is he?!”

The Orcs growled, starting toward her, cutting her off from Kas–

Exhaustion and pride burst forth from her core, her voice dropping and cutting through the air with draconic wrath, face tightening to a mask of momentary hatred.

“ _Move_.”

The Orcs stopped in place, shivered, then stepped aside for her. She watched them with evil eyes, then made her way past them to the natural ramp, posture straight and regal. Kas made his way to her side quickly, though still shadowed.

“Fucking insolent mortals,” she muttered, looking up the ramp.

More Wyrmguards came screeching down–

Kas dove at the first, gripping it from the side unawares and steering its momentum off the ramp. Its arms went all over to keep balance but it twisted and fell hard the ten feet down to the ground of the Badlands, letting out a loud grunt. The second and third made their way to attack the white rogue–

Rhea held up a hand, roaring words of arcane, bringing down mage’s halefire on the two, searing them with her magic. They tried to cover their heads, yelping, and Kas took a split second to breath and adjust himself before hurtling his daggers towards them, embedding the blades in their necks and letting them gurgle their last breaths.

The first one he knocked over the edge came up behind Rhea, howling, arm raised to split her in two–

The arm burst off at the shoulder, blood pouring out. The Wyrmguard clasped its other arm to the wound, writhing on its feet, before another blow cut its head clean off. The body fell to the ground, twitching then going still.

The few remaining Orcs stood behind their leader, watching Rhea–then Kas–with unease but a grim trust. Rhea raised a brow. The Orc commander lowered his head slightly, bowing, and she nodded, turning, ascending the ramp. Kas followed dutifully, and the Orc soldiers hastened to keep up.

Halfway up the spiraling ramp, a tower stood in the fort. A guarding Wyrmguard roared and rushed them, Rhea angrily waving a hand and teleporting it ten feet to its right–midair. She didn’t stop her forward momentum as its scream faded and an abrupt THUMP came from the ground far below. A low growl came from the tower.

Inside, the air curled and shuddered with heat and steam. In the center, a huge anvil of black iron lay waiting. The floor was a grid pattern, and underneath, Rhea could see the molten runoff from the blacksmithing work. She didn’t much care about that–the creature in the middle was more of a concern.

A huge black-scaled quadruped stood watching her from the other side of the anvil. Two huge bat-wings unfurled, leathery red membrane illuminated by the molten slag, outlining networks of twisting veins. It wore no armor, nor held any weapons: its scales were hard and its teeth and claws were jagged. Along with its four legs, two muscular arms were ready to grab its quarry. Two crimson horns curved out from its brow, and in the center of its forehead, a vile spike burst forth.

Moldarr.

Its voice shuddered through the heat of the room, then a deep chuckle filled the air.

“Rrrrhhheeeaaaaassssssttttrrraaassszzzaaaaa…”

Rhea’s eyes narrowed, and she cracked her knuckles. Moldarr laughed louder, opening its arms, welcoming their offense.


	48. Chapter 48

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle of New Kargath rages fiercely as Rhea's party takes on Moldarr and General Jirakka of the Black Dragonflight.

Kas and the Orcs slowly moved into the room, flanking the huge black-scaled beast. Moldarr growled, a jagged grin exposing vicious fangs, waiting for them. Rhea watched from the doorway, opposite Moldarr, breathing slow and even as she prepared her arcane energies.

The closest Orc roared, charging.

Moldarr laughed, whipping around and smashing its tree-trunk of a tail into the oncoming soldier, slamming him hard into the side of the huge black anvil. The other Orcs rushed forward too, and Moldarr met two of them, lifting them up and throwing one hard across the room, smashing the other against the wall and raising a hand of jagged claws to impale the wriggling soldier’s skull--

Kas darted underneath the beast’s arms, slashing against one front ankle, his blades sparking against the hard scales but not doing much. Moldarr turned its gaze down to him, snarling and turning, bringing the Orc off the wall and smashing the unfortunate man onto the floor, trying to squish Kas underneath. Kas rolled back, and Rhea saw her opening, sending a bolt of fire slamming into the beast’s eye socket.

Moldarr winced, its tiny eyes blinking, and it finally relented its grasp on the soldier to rub at its face. Kas darted forward, dragging the coughing Orc out of the path of one large foot, coming down hard to crush them with the beast’s weight. Moldarr growled--

The Orc leader yelled, swinging his axe two-handed into the beast’s side.

Moldarr roared, shaking the structure, the axe managing to dig in past the thick hide of scales--though just barely. The Orc leader tugged on his weapon, but it was lodged in, only coming free as Moldarr whipped around and back-handed the Orc across the room, smashing into the doorway and falling dazed at Rhea’s feet.

Rhea sent another series of bolts tumbling against Moldarr’s scales, but the centaur-dragon snarled and turned its gaze to her, scrambling up onto the anvil to make a beeline for her. Kas jumped up on the anvil as well, scrambling up its tail like a primate on a tree, ducking down flat along its back-spines as it paused on the center of the anvil, thrashing to shake off the pest.

One Orc valiantly yelled, swinging his axe as if to fell a tree, digging it into one of the great beast’s ankles. Moldarr howled in pain and fury, turning its red eyes on the soldier and inhaling sharply, unleashing a torrent of flame from its mouth and immolating the soldier completely.

Kas held onto back-spines for dear life as the beast thrashed about. He grit his teeth, letting go of one spine long enough to sink his dagger into the fleshy membrane of one wing, tearing the blade down and through it like cutting through thick curtains. Moldarr screeched, jumping up off the anvil and smashing up into the ceiling, crushing the Human partially against it, landing back on the anvil. Kas braced himself as much as possible but couldn’t stop himself from falling back roughly against the beast’s back and tumbling off a good eight feet to land hard on his back on the grated floor.

The rogue coughed, wincing, dazed but miraculously not broken, and Moldarr growled in delight, bending its knees to leap down and crush the pest--

Rhea hurled a huge arcane ball into the side of its head, snapping its neck back and throwing it off balance.

Moldarr’s arms flailed a moment before it stumbled off the anvil, crashing into the side of the building and hissing in pain. The remaining three Orc soldiers piled onto it, punching and slicing as best they could, their leader getting to his feet and moving over quickly to Kas, helping the smaller human up.

The two men ducked as one of the Orc soldiers was thrown back fast, crashing through a crate and into the wall, groaning.

Moldarr back-fisted another one, sending him sprawling, and stopped the third’s desperate axe swing mid-air, curling its huge claws around the shaft of the weapon and snapping it in two. The other hand came around, grabbing the soldier by the neck--

Rhea once again blasted its eye with fire, causing it to screech and turn its gaze away from the flailing form in its grasp, looking at her livid but not snapping the soldier’s neck--

Kas grabbed the Orc leader’s great-axe and put a foot in the man’s hand. The leader blinked a moment then understood, hurling Kas up with all his might--

Kas raised the axe--

With a roar, the Human carved the axe down through Moldarr’s arm, severing it at the elbow.

The beast screeched louder, clutching the stump as dark blood poured out. Kas stumbled from the momentum, and the Orc soldier, landing back on his feet and shaking off the severed arm from his throat, caught Kas before he went crashing into the wall.

Moldarr raised its remaining hand to strike them both--

Rhea sent a firebolt into the stump.

Moldarr yelled and writhed, wings flapping in agony, clutching its half-arm again. The Orc leader wasted no moment of advantage, jumping up on the anvil and taking off his belt, grabbing the tough cord in both hands and throwing it around the beast’s neck. The Orc roared, tugging Moldarr off balance and its top half down onto the hard anvil--

The leader held out his hand, one soldier throwing up his axe, and before Moldarr could claw at the Orc, the leader brought the axe hurtling down and impaled Moldarr to the anvil.

“That’s for invading my goddamn fortress,” he spat down.

The beast shuddered, wide-eyed, coughed up dark crimson, and went still.

Rhea rushed in, going to Kas’s side. The Orc soldier steadied him on his feet, and he knelt down to Rhea’s smaller form, white armor singed with ash. He was breathing hard, and Rhea put her hands on his head and chest, doing what minimal healing she could. Blessedly, no breaks, but some bad bruises that she dulled the pain of before putting her forehead to his, nuzzling him gently.

The Orc leader put a foot on Moldarr’s corpse, after a moment’s exertion pulling the axe out hard. He hopped down off the table, redoing his belt, looking at the two not under his command.

“You fight well. Both of you.”

Rhea glanced up at him, and Kas heaved himself back up onto his feet. Rhea cleared her throat.

“There’s one more. At the top.”

The Orc leader nodded, and they went out, ascending the ramp once more.

Two more Wyrmguards snarled, rushing down it, but the Orcs, covered in blackened blood, had been through more than these measly fighters could dare overthrow. Two of the Orcs dealt with one, felling it and bringing an axe down hard through its skull. The Orc who had thrown the leader his axe had remained empty-handed, grabbing the Wyrmguard from the side and lifting it completely off the ground, throwing it over the side of the cliff-ramp with a primal roar. Kas and Rhea continued upwards.

At the top, three Wyrmguards stood ready before the last tower’s entrance. The Orcs charged, clashing with the two on the end and drawing their blows. The middle one raised its sword to strike--

Kas leapt at it full-speed, buckling its feet out from under it and landing on it, viciously sinking his daggers in. Behind him on either side, the guards were overrun, and the Orcs beat them down into the earth.

Rhea made her way past the gore, looking up through the tower.

A huge set of stairs snaked up the walls. She lifted her robes carefully then started up them, light and quick on her feet. Her bodyguard and their accompanying soldiers followed.

Higher and higher they went, the wind outside buffeting the walls. No one spoke; they wanted this grim sojourn to be over. They were ready for General Jirakka.

They finally came out on a stable but narrow platform of wood atop the tower overlooking the desert. In every direction, the miles sprawled on, beautiful--if barren. The wind howled and whipped at their legs. There were no guard rails whatsoever up there. They carefully made their way around the platform to the side overlooking the fortress itself.

A huge quadruped Black Dragon, much like Moldarr only wearing almost regal golden armor stood overlooking New Kargath. General Jirakka. The large Dragon growled softly, turning to face his challengers, and his face grew into a sinister, toothy smirk.

“Rheastrasza. You’ve come. Perhaps your guilty conscious led you here?”

Rhea narrowed her eyes. “I came because I’ve got friends here. Your pestilence is only an added blight I’ll snuff out.”

The General growled. “Come then, girl, and let me snuff out that fiery spirit of yours.”

The Orcs charged, and Jirakka hissed out a word of magic, a bolt lashing out and exploding at their feet. They rolled, coming dangerously close to the edge of the wooden platform but scrambled to stay on. Kas darted around, but the General turned his gaze on the human, and there was nothing Kas could do. The larger lizard-man was backed to the edge; if Kas charged, he’d just be thrown over and down hard to the ground below.

One of the Orcs nonetheless charged a second time. Jirakka hissed with delight, throwing a bolt at the soldier’s feet and blasting open one of the poor man’s legs. The Orc howled in pain, falling to the ground but keeping a hold of his axe, smashing it down into one of Jirakka’s feet and drawing quite a bit of blood. The lizard yelped then snarled, bending down and lifting the helpless man up, throwing him off the side of the tower and down the long, long way to the hard ground below.

Kas saw his chance, darting forward.

Rhea blasted the General’s upper chest with fireballs and the Orcs assaulted him, but each blow seemed only to hit a barrier of magic the General had put up. Kas leapt off the shoulder of one of the Orcs, throwing his weight into a dagger swing, aiming for the General’s eye but only slashing down his helmeted cheek as the lithe Dragon darted out of the way. Jirakka grabbed Kas before he could land, slamming him down into the wooden ground, but before he could crush the rogue’s chest in, the Orcs battered against his arm and gave Kas enough leeway to scramble back, coughing.

Rhea moved up slightly, grabbing him and pulling him back to the wall. He turned to her, chest still heaving.

“It’s too narrow, my darling; please.”

She looked up, anxious. Kas turned his head to the platform and nodded.

“Go for his foot, if you can,” Kas said grimly, gripping his blades tight.

Rhea nodded, taking a deep breath and summoning a large arcane bolt, raising it high above her--

Kas shivered. Something was wrong here--something was very wrong. He couldn’t think straight to figure out what it was, but alarms were ringing throughout his mind.

Rhea shot the bolt up in the air, arcing above them, then it slammed down into Jirakka’s shield hard, wearing it down. She fired a volley up, and they rained down mercilessly, drawing his energy away from where the Orcs were assaulting, forcing him to split his focus--

“PUSH!” Kas yelled.

The Orc leader charged, ramming a shoulder into General Jirakka and heaving with all his might. The General stumbled back, catching himself on his bleeding foot and howling, flailing back a little more--

Where the platform had ended.

He flailed harder, his hubris coming back to bite him, and the Orc planted his boot into the General’s belly, thrusting hard.

General Jirakka screamed, falling down to the earth below, cutting off all noise suddenly with a crunch. Only the wind now blowing through, sharp.

Something was still wrong, and Kas shivered.

Rhea didn’t notice, focused on the Orcs who survived: two soldiers and their leader, all looking weary. She had no choice but to try and recruit them now.

“Sirs!” she called to them as they made their way back to her. “Please--I know I have no right to ask this of you, but I am here to help save my friends. They’ve been abducted by the Twilight’s Hammer, or at least by a small group of cultists, and they’re all here to search for a something that, if it falls into the wrong hands, could mean devastation to this world. We really could use some help with that. Please--I-- Please. Two more dangerous Black Dragons are dead, but at least one more remains.”

The Orc leader moved to her, smiling softly despite the weariness of battle. “My lady, we are men of honor. We will gladly--”

Whatever he said next was completely lost. A rush of heat filled the air, and Rhea had just enough time to shield herself and Kas before the roaring burst of Dragonfire filled the platform, incinerating the three Orcs. Kas threw himself down in front of Rhea, pinning her to the wall and shielding her quickly before realizing she’d already thrown up a guard. He turned--

Nyxondra, in all her dark glory, finally relented on the charred Orc bodies, flapping her huge wings to stay level with the platform. Rhea gulped.

“Nyxondra!” Rhea called out. “My greatest regret here is the treatment I gave you! Forcing you to lay eggs-- performing experiments on them over and over and over again-- Even as a mother myself, I cannot imagine your sorrow! But you must listen to me, please! Even if you hate me; even if you want me to die, I understand, but that egg means the salvation of every future generation of your race! Every whelpling; every dragon! You’d never have to suffer; no madness, no fury burning you from the inside-- You will be the mother of a new Black Dragonflight! That sacrifice; I know it was a large one, and I know I did terrible things, but it was necessary!”

“I WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU, RHEASTRASZA!” Nyxondra roared, shaking the whole tower.

Rhea’s brow trembled with pain. “I tried,” she mumbled, preparing herself--

A bolt of green magic slammed Kas in the side, sending him sprawling away to his stomach on the ground.

“KAS!”

Rhea turned to her bodyguard, looking around--

A hand grabbed her roughly by the throat, lifting her off her feet and slamming her down hard into the ground, knocking the already-precious wind from her lungs. She gasped and strained, slamming on the arm, but she couldn’t breathe-- couldn’t-- think--

Her fighting weakened, and her eyes slowly-- lulled--

Broderick let up as the Dragoness passed out, lest he kill her completely. Smoke rose up from the scorch on Kas’s deermane armor where Lethrena’s spell had hit him. Nyxondra moved onto the platform, assuming her pale human form again.

“Now then, milady Dragon, I believe the fairest way to do this would be to let you have the Red here and take the wolf for ourselves?” Broderick said politely. Nyxondra smiled wickedly and nodded.

Noise came from the stairs, and Broderick turned his attention there.

The rest of his guards came up, the two prisoners with them--

Led by none other than Lady Azalia and her entourage of guards.

Broderick’s eyes widened and his blood ran cold and still. With her here, and so many more guards, his vengeance would have to wait--as would his escape with Lethrena, unless it was done in shame and cowardice instead of triumph! He bowed his head to his superior.

The Night Elf woman smiled to him. “Broderick.”

The Gilnean Commander regained himself as much as possible. “Lady Azalia--I was not expecting you.”

“That’s quite all right, Broderick. I’m very impressed by your efforts out here.”

Broderick felt his heart slam his ribs. Perhaps this was salvageable. “Ma’am?”

“Your replying to the Master Yrr’jaiish. It so happens that my mages intercepted Its last call and came here to free It, but It detailed your devotion to freeing it, and I must say I am quite impressed with all I heard. Commander.” She bowed her head to him, and Broderick’s heart skipped.

He regained himself, standing straighter. “I’m-- sorry to inform you of the loss of so many guards, my Lady.”

Lady Azalia nodded calmly. “These things are to be expected in such efforts, Broderick.” She glanced at Kas and Rhea. “And I see you have a collection of prisoners, two of whom you boasted should be killed lest they harm our cause.”

“Aye…”

“All of them seem dangerous.”

“Aye.”

“The Master requested to see you tend to them personally.”

Broderick blinked, gulping, then nodded slowly. “I’ve given the Red as a gift to Lady Nyxondra here.”

Lady Azalia turned to the Black Dragoness, looking her over, then bowed curtly. “I’m sure Lady Nyxondra would not mind accompanying us to watch the demise of the others?”

Nyxondra looked at Ye’tka. “I’d take great pleasure in it.”

Lady Azalia nodded. “Good. Traja!”

A mage stepped forward, murmuring the spell for a teleportation. Broderick cleared his throat.

“Lady Azalia--where is the Master now?”

The Night Elf woman smiled.

“The Molten Core.”

The spell-caster finished his incantation, and they all vanished, leaving New Kargath nothing but an empty fortress of corpses.


	49. Chapter 49

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kas wakes up as the prisoner of the Twilight, and if he doesn't do what they want, it's going to get really, really bad.

Kas came to, coughing against the stench of soot and smoke.

He was strung up spread-eagle, his ankles and wrists bound in iron. Chains ran from the braces into cracks in the stone above and below him, and weakly he glanced around.

The chamber was massive, easily fifty feet high, and made entirely from rock carved out in the earth. It was painfully hot, and along the dome-like ceiling, huge runes had been carved in long ago, still glowing orange and red with heat. The floor itself was uneven but was completely stone, some of it brown and natural and some of it blackened, hardened obsidian. There was an alcove against one wall, high up, overlooking the vast chamber.

In front of him, smacking his cheek as he woke up, stood Broderick Redmane.

“You’re awake. Wonderful. Then let’s get started.”

Broderick moved back, and Kaskaeld realized that in addition to being strung up, he was without weapons or armor. Naked among cruelty.

As the Commander moved back, he revealed other prisoners--Ye’tka and Atano knelt in waiting next to a massive line of guards, and Rhea a small, struggling, gagged Goblin woman held forcefully aloft by two Wyrmguards, murmuring constant enchantments to keep her from shifting to another form. Nyxondra watched her bodyguard curiously, standing in her human form beside her conquest. Kas watched her with a fast-growing chill in his eyes.

Up on the alcove ridge, Lady Azalia stood with her mages and the survivors of Broderick’s hunting party, all of her personal guards below. Lethrena had been invited to stay with them, and could not refuse such an offer. She was surprised to see Goran there too--their original camp’s look-out man and only survivor, who had witnessed the slaughter from Atano and had almost lost his soul interrupting Broderick and the Masters. Goran gave her his usual timid smile. Lady Azalia had kept him around, then.

Lethrena was as calm as possible but under her cowl, her eyes darted around and her pulse raced. She knew Broderick felt such similar stress--somewhere, they had been told, was the Master Yrr’jaiish. Who, she thought, might very well know of what they’d been up to. If that was the case; if he’d been around since before her and Broderick were together intimately and seen it all, then this whole place would need to become a blood-bath--and, while she was certainly more than capable of killing Azalia, the weary guards, and her mages all right, Broderick had to contend with her entourage of completely healthy guardians. She’d rather not have to teleport him out unexpectedly; they couldn’t have their happy home if they had enemies, after all.

Broderick studied his Gilnean foe a long moment, crossing his arms.

“You’ve quite the litany of scars, Kaskaeld Remor. It’s impressive. Commendable; a testament to your focus and your talent.”

Kas said nothing, eyes narrowed at his captor.

Broderick took a breath, looking around and settling his gaze on Rhea’s struggling form. “She’s got quite the spirit. I see why you’re enamored with her; she really doesn’t know when to quit and take the loss.”

Broderick glanced back at Kaskaeld. “You, I know, do.”

Kas made no reply, breathing evenly, trying to feel for any way out of his bonds. The shackles were on tight. Broderick cleared his throat.

“There is a way out of those, you know. Oh, come on; I would’ve expected that to be one of your first choices, with how vicious you are! You shift to your worgen form, and even that iron can’t stop you.”

Kas held his back up as straight as possible, wincing from the blows he’d taken but not lowering his posture any.

“Perhaps you don’t have the option? I know you were bitten; it’s in old records, Kaskaeld.” Broderick looked him over. “Perhaps-- if you turn, there’s no controlling it again? Or maybe it’s acknowledgement? Acknowledgement you’re a beast, fit only to fight and carve your legacy with claws and teeth and blood. Not worthy of any other path. Vindication for all those scars.”

Kas shivered, a bead of sweat rolling over the lash-marks on his back.

“I think I just hit the nail on the head.” Broderick smiled, almost looking polite, save his ego and his allegiances, and he glanced back at Lady Azalia. “I do believe I might be a good Inquisitor, should you wish it of me!”

Lady Azalia smiled lightly, watching. Lethrena glanced at her, studying her like a hawk, trying to remain relaxed but growing tenser by the moment.

“Kaskaeld--for the purpose of safety, I saw fit to rid you of that dreadfully old armor,” Broderick said nonchalantly. “Really, I did you a favor: not only was it impractical to carry on fighting with stitched-up rags, it could’ve been holding numerous unknown blades that might’ve stabbed into you when we brought you here. And then, all of this--” he gestured about-- “--wouldn’t have really come to pass. And that truly would’ve been a pity.”

Rhea’s roaring, quite muffled, filled the silence between Broderick’s sentiments. The Wyrmguards held her fast. Nyxondra’s smirk deepened, listening as she watched Broderick work.

Broderick cleared his throat. “You get to be seen, Kaskaeld! Seen by one of the most glorious beings; seen by one of the Masters! You get to fight for all you’re worth!”

“I’m chained up, you daft fuck,” Kas said coldly. Broderick paused then chuckled.

“Yes, indeed; so shift, and come battle.”

Broderick held his arms out, open, smiling. Kas’s eyes narrowed fiercely, but he made no movements.

“No tricks; really,” Broderick said, voice soft but still audible way up on the alcove ridge. “You and me. To the death.”

“You’ve got better things to do than that,” Kas spat at him. “Harder tortures than that. Your guards would kill me and everyone else, even if I bested you. Why bother with the goddamn pretense?”

Broderick chuckled. “I already told you,” he said, “you’re in the presence of one of the Masters. As am I. We’re in a constant state of reinitiation, us Twilight; our Masters continuously make sure we are fervent worshipers. I requested something that could’ve been construed more personally, when I wished to hunt you and Atano. As a result, to prove that this is, as I said, to rid the world of two magnificently talented fighters, so that they do not impede our plans, I think that the smartest way to handle this would be to demonstrate your skill. If I die, then I simply was not worthy of being a Commander in these ranks.”

Lethrena gulped, imperceptible.

Kas watched him quietly a long moment. “Who’s your ‘Master’ then, here? You all look like a bunch of thespians without any budget.”

Broderick laughed, looking around at the guards, covered head to toe in their robes, devout symbols tattooed up their arms.

“I have absolutely no idea! But I was told by Lady Azalia there that Yrr’jaiish is here, and I will not doubt her word. So! Steel yourself, man, and fight, unless you’re scared.”

Kas still made no movement. Above, Lethrena desperately scanned the Cultist guards, trying to determine who the Old God was--if she could trace the energy, she could still maybe enthrall It and turn that power on the rest, but there was so much energy worked into every inch of the Molten Core--

Broderick sighed, glancing at Ye’tka and Atano. “Do I need to force the matter, Kaskaeld?”

The Twilight Commander moved over to Kas’s former traveling companions, unsheathing a sword and resting it against Ye’tka’s forehead.

“I can gladly split his head in two.”

Broderick met Kas’s gaze. Kas made no reply. Broderick waited a long moment, then chuckled to himself.

“You see how much you mean to him.”

Broderick pulled the sword back off, moving it to Atano’s forehead, glancing at Kas again. Still, the Gilnean watched in silent rage.

“No? Really? I suppose that isn’t as surprising--but what are you waiting for, man? No one’s coming for you. You’re prolonging the inevitable and making all of us rather uncomfortably hot.”

Still nothing. Broderick glanced at Rhea then sighed, sheathing his sword again, stretching.

“My Lady Nyxondra; if you wouldn’t mind detailing your punishment to this wriggly Red Dragoness?”

Nyxondra glanced at Rhea then back at Kas. “Of course-- I thought it best to be as appropriate to the mistreatment I got. Thus, I’m going to give her as a present to my army. They’ve been so dreadfully bored out in this desert, and she’ll be--mm--such a playful little thing, wouldn’t you say, ‘bodyguard?’ And when she’s laid the eggs they’ve given her, I’ll toy about all I please and see if I can’t ‘purify’ the new generation of Red Dragons.”

Rhea screamed against the gag and writhed hard against her guards. Kas shivered, and Broderick raised a brow. The rogue was losing his cool.

“I thought it best,” Nyxondra drawled on, “to wait until after you and Commander Redmane had your little show, but if you won’t…”

She snapped her fingers and the Wyrmguards slammed Rhea to the ground hard, cheek pressed down into the stone but her hips still in the air, a third approaching behind--

A roar boomed through the cavern and even Broderick winced, covering his ears--the roar deep with righteous, volcanic, unstoppable fury, slowly fading and echoing through the caverns until only a low growl remained. Rhea trembled, wide-eyed on the ground, the Wyrmguards stunned a moment into letting up for her to wriggle and look around--

The chains hung down loose. The shackles were broken, clattering to the ground.

A huge worgen--a humanoid wolf, easily seven feet tall--stood watching them. The scars were still visible under light brown fur. Vicious black claws, sharpened to killing points, ended the fingers of each hand, and saliva dripped down from bared, snarling fangs.

Red eyes watched the Wyrmguards desiring their complete annihilation.

Rhea’s eyes widened further, and for a brief moment she forgot her predicament.

Kaskaeld, her bodyguard, her lover, had let the darkness caged inside him out.

Atop the ridge, Lethrena recovered from the ear-splitting roar, trying still to scan the crowd even though the worgen man was quite imposing. She looked at their energies quickly, but not a one of them--

She paused. If they weren’t Yrr’jaiish--

Every muscle in her tensed hard. Her breath barely came, and she looked over, slow, praying she was wrong--

Goran’s eyes, inhumanly yellow, were fixed upon her.


	50. Chapter 50

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The climactic battle of Rhea's party vs. the Twilight and the Black Dragonflight!

Kaskaeld’s huge form advanced slowly on the Wyrmguards holding his lover down. His stood bipedal still, towering high, though his knees were backwards so that he could drop down to a wolf’s sprint at any point. His red eyes bore into the guards, and his snout quivered as his growl intensified.

Nyxondra studied him with intrigue, not bothering to move--he was focused on the guards next to her, after all, and they would stand their ground.

Broderick moved into his path, calm, no sword in his hands but ready for the oncoming brute, a smile on his face.

Above them all, Lethrena couldn’t even try to contain her horror. Whatever was happening below didn’t matter; Goran--

No, she thought, a chill rushing through her. Not Goran; Goran had never been. It’d been the Master Yrr’jaiish all along.

Lady Azalia glanced over Yrr’jaiish’s smaller human disguise to Lethrena, blue eyes cold. She knew the truth. All of them did. Lethrena glanced around; Aayani and the tired guards from their party watched her with cruel eyes and daggers in-hand. The Twilight Lady looked back below at Broderick--and, Lethrena realized, would gladly signal his death if Kaskaeld didn’t kill him.

“Lethrena Goldenfire,” Yrr’jaiish murmured softly, chuckling. “We had such high hopes for you. Commander Redmane we thought correctly couldn’t let go of his past life, but you; you had embraced the Twilight wholeheartedly. But you cannot even blame his bad influence for your transgressions, girl; you’ve broken each and every vow without remorse.”

The Blood Elf enchantress tried to move her feet; to get away from Yrr’jaiish on the platform, but Its yellow eyes held her fast in place.

“Did you really think I didn’t see you? See every plan; every motion you put into action? My title is ‘the Seer,’ girl; I knew every move you’d make; manipulated every choice; fed you images of a future you might get to test your will and Broderick’s and _failed every test, MISERABLY_. You’re self-absorbed; egotistical, overflowing with lust and ill-conceived notions of your abilities; you would _dare_ to try and chain _me_?”

She shivered hard, feet rooted in the ground.

“You’ll watch your mate die, below, Lethrena. You’ll stay put, and we’ll keep an eye on you until your child comes to the world. Perhaps we will use you, as Nyxondra wishes to use Rheastrasza, to breed us a new race of soldiers; to bend and mold and shape in our will. Perhaps we will devour you and your child.”

Yrr’jaiish’s face burst into an inhuman grin, carving up Goran’s petite features.

“But unlike your petty home in Nagrand, I won’t feed an image of that future into your mind to give you any relief or hope that you’ll know what’s coming ahead. No safety net of surviving ordeals. Now look on, and watch your lover die.”

Lethrena trembled hard, eyes slowly, hypnotically, moving back to the chaos unfolding below.

Kas reached Broderick, swinging one huge arm to smash him out of the way. Broderick ducked quickly, jamming a punch into the wolf’s ribs, but Kas hardly flinched, snarling and bringing his arms down, grabbing the man and hoisting him up into the air--

Broderick laughed and kicked his heel into the worgen’s snout.

Kas dropped him, staggering back a pace, blood dripping down his nose and along his fangs. His red eyes widened with the rage of insanity, and he darted forward surprisingly fast, one punch knocking hard against Broderick’s hasty block--the other set of claws catching his side and tearing at his ribs, throwing him back to crash to the rocky ground.

Kas snarled and roared at him, then turned to advance on the Wyrmguards again--

Another growl filled the air. Kas paused, eyes narrowing, turning back to Broderick’s body.

A gray worgen raised up where the Gilnean had been laying. Broderick Redmane. Cold green eyes to match his mate’s. Three slashes along his robes where Kas had caught him. The second wolf-man grabbed the top of his robes, pulling them off and leaving him only with black pants beneath, his chest as broad as Kas’s, if not as covered with scars.

The worgen growled at each other, then Broderick charged.

Kas braced for him, snarling, but Broderick still knocked him to the ground, frenzied with a slew of claws. Kas roared, new scratches along his face and shoulders, blocking as best he could but finally catching Broderick’s arm in his jaws and biting down hard.

Broderick howled in pain, flailing as Kas rolled them over and slammed him into the ground, claws digging into his chest to hold him down. Broderick roared up at him, smashing his paw into Kas’s ribs, sending the rogue sprawling away but recovering to all-fours, fur bristling, spitting out the blood and fur from his fangs.

Nyxondra purred, enjoying the show, and lazily glanced back at her guards, waving them on. They forced Rhea back down again tight to the ground, and a third moved behind her again, looking on lustily as she screamed against the rag, running a hand over her hips--

Kas glanced over as Broderick charged again, full speed on all-fours, but the rogue was quick, hoisting himself back on his feet and bringing one set of claws down hard, catching the side of Broderick’s face and tearing against his ear and cheek. The gray worgen yelped, but Kas wasn’t finished, insane fury only bringing on more adrenaline--grabbing Broderick by his shoulder and leg and lifting him up off the ground despite muscles crying out in agony--

The lusting Wyrmguard glanced up in time to see Broderick’s flailing body thrown at him before the huge worgen form toppled him backwards.

Kas roared, dropping to all-fours again and sprinting, pouncing with claws and fangs at one of Rhea’s Wyrmguards before Nyxondra could mutter a spell and contain him. The guard fell back hard to the ground, trying to block Kas’s claws before the worgen buried his fangs in the man’s neck, crunching through the scales and tearing like a rabid animal.

Nyxondra hissed out a spell to put down the mutt--

Rheastrasza roared, power surging through her. One of the two guards enchanting her to keep placid was rapidly dying and the other was too stunned to focus for just a moment--

But that moment was all she needed.

A Red Dragoness burst up, knocking the stunned Wyrmguard back, slamming her tail into Nyxondra before the human-formed woman could get off the spell. She spun to Lady Azalia’s Twilight Elite, roaring and unleashing a torrent of flame on them as Ye’tka and Atano scrambled out of the way.

Kas ripped his head back savagely, destroying tendons and veins and leaving the mess of a guard below on the ground, chin and chest dyed black with rapidly-drying blood--

Broderick tackled him again, rolling with him over the stone and coming out on top, claws slashing, furiously wild that everything had gone so wrong, especially when he was presenting it to Azalia and the Master--

Above, Yrr’jaiish narrowed Its eyes coldly. Lady Azalia growled low but turned away. This was, most likely, a lost cause for her guards; best to take what victory they had now.

Aayani grabbed Lethrena from behind, slicing minutely along her back. Lethrena yelped, her legs giving out. “Traitor,” Aayani purred into her ear, grabbing her waist and holding her helplessly aloft, one hand squeezing down on her throat to knock her out and bring her wherever the Twilight wanted--

Lethrena could barely make out, through the spinning world, that Yrr’jaiish slowly moved forward, sliding out of view down the side of the rock wall, leaving Azalia and the guards there to tend to Lethrena.

The Blood Elf gasped for breath, eyes fluttering--

Her hand crackled with darkness and she pounded it back into Aayani’s belly. The goat-woman screamed, thrown back into her surprised peers. Lethrena fell hard to the ground, yelling in pain; her legs numb and paralyzed. She hissed out a breath, wrath and fear in her eyes--whatever happened below, it didn’t matter anymore; she had to protect herself and her child.

Lady Azalia came forward, and Lethrena murmured a quick spell, dark magic snapping and momentarily fixing her spine. She howled in pain but scrambled to her feet, grabbing the advancing Night Elf woman around her waist and running her back into the cavern wall. Lady Azalia yelled in fury--

Lethrena sunk her ritual dagger into Lady Azalia’s heart, eyes wild.

The Night Elf woman gasped, spluttered--a stream of blood slowly dripping down her mouth, then her eyes lost their luster.

Yrr’jaiish walked on quietly to the chaos below, unaware of what was happening above. Even if they weren’t perfect sacrifices anymore, what with their cuts and bruises, he’d still delight in devouring Rheastrasza and Kaskaeld. Ye’tka and Atano were still in mint condition…

Kas’s arms took a beating, blood pouring from a hundred small cuts as Broderick rained his anger down. The rogue bucked his hips up hard to push the man off, but Broderick spread his legs as he straddled, lowering his center of gravity and staying on--snapping his jaws down hard to bite and tear, stopped inches from Kas’s face as one bleeding arm came up, bracing against his throat--

Nyxondra shifted to her Black Dragoness form, roaring and smashing into Rheastrasza’s side. The Red Dragoness stumbled back, scattering the Wyrmguards from under her path, but grabbed Nyxondra’s neck, pulling the Black Dragoness around and slamming her into the cavern’s jagged wall.

The tired Twilight guards charged Lethrena. The witch woman growled, throwing her dagger into the chest of the first--the male Draenei--and braced for the second, spinning and throwing him off the side of the alcove. The third grabbed her from behind, lifting her up into the air, and she flailed, roaring. The fourth helped Aayani back to her feet, starting a portal away--

Lethrena slammed her heels into the guard’s knees, buckling them, then grabbed his arm and dug her fangs into the flesh. The guard yelled in pain, letting go of her, and she turned, frenzied, grabbing him and sinking her fangs into his neck, soaking her front with crimson.

The fourth finished his portal out of there, turning to face her--

She threw the dead third man aside, quickly grabbing her dagger and running it through the fourth’s abdomen, slicing up and tearing all she could.

Aayani tackled her back with a scream of rage, knocking her to the ground and undoing the concentration to keep her legs working. Lethrena yelped, writhing, but grabbed onto the Draenei’s horns to control her. Aayani hissed and spat at her, bringing an arm down on her elbows and buckling them, destroying Lethrena’s leverage but the Blood Elf witch held on tight, bringing Aayani’s head low--

Lethrena pulled her down harder and kissed her.

Aayani lost her tension, wide-eyed and confused, tasting the iron of blood as Lethrena’s tongue played along hers--then wheezed and flailed. The witch inhaled sharply, and Aayani felt her life being pulled away, cold setting in despite the heat of the surrounding Molten Core, slipping, fading…

Lethrena threw the withered husk that was once the Draenei healer off to the side, blue skin drawn tight over bones clattering against the rock. Lethrena shivered and weakly looked around--the portal, and the commotion below; Broderick--

She weakly rolled to her belly, dragging herself along by her arms over to watch.

Kas finally managed to throw Broderick off of him. The gray wolf landed hard on his back but recovered fast, charging Kas again--

The rogue roared and threw a hard punch that smashed into his jaw.

Broderick reeled back, stumbling and falling against the ground. Kas sprinted forward, descending on him, Broderick’s arms coming up to guard and slash along the rogue’s chest. Kas yelled in pain, slashing along Broderick’s arm but the Twilight Commander dug his claws in deeper against Kas’s ribs. Kas yelped and brought his own down, slicing along Broderick’s shoulder and making him howl long enough to ease up--

Before Kas could capitalize on that moment, though, Broderick jammed his feet into Kas’s bloody chest and kicked him back hard, sending him sprawling away.

Rheastrasza and Nyxondra snapped at each other, claws striking against scales, necks writhing out of the way of jaws. Nyxondra reared up, bringing one set of claws down and piercing through the membrane of one red wing. Rheastrasza screeched, clamping her jaws down fiercely on the edge of Nyxondra’s shoulder at the base of her neck, and the two Dragonesses snarled and spun, smashing each other into the side of the cavern and shaking the whole place.

Atano rose to his feet, gritting his teeth and breaking through the bonds the Twilight had put his arms in to replace Lethrena’s enchantment. He helped Ye’tka up too, breaking his bonds--

Ye’tka’s eyes widened and he pushed Atano back out of the way, Yrr’jaiish sending a bolt of yellow energy where the Tauren had been standing, sending the shaman flying back and to the ground, immobilized but otherwise unharmed; insurance that the Master’s meal would not be contaminated any with bruises.

Atano stumbled back, looking at the human figure, seeing its crooked smile and yellow eyes. Its sinister chuckle filled the air, chilling the Tauren’s large heart--

He couldn’t do this one alone--and certainly not unarmed.

He took a breath, rushing away into the rest of the fray, catching one of the Wyrmguards unawares and barrelling through its side, landing on top of it and bringing a meaty fist down, crushing its throat. Its quick yelp went silent, and as it flailed helplessly not to die Atano picked up the spear it had been holding.

Broderick clambered back on top of Kaskaeld, the rogue’s muscles straining but exhaustion starting to set in; all of those vicious bruises starting to take effect. So much blood had been spilled, and ran down his arms and chest. Broderick smashed a punch into his shoulder, loosening the muscle before his arm could come up and stop him; other arm helplessly blocked. Broderick grabbed his throat, claws digging in.

“Did you really think,” the gray wolf snarled down at Kas, “that you’d win?! I know my future--I know my fate! I will kill you all; I will have my place in history; my home with Lethrena; I WILL LIVE ON--!”

A blade speared through his heart, and Broderick stopped, surprise coloring his features as death came for him. Atano hoisted him off of Kas on the end of the spear, hurling his twitching body away to crumple and roll on the ground.

“Live on in Hell,” the Tauren said coldly, grabbing Kas’s hand and pulling the worgen to his feet.

Broderick spluttered, twitching, hearing faintly the scream of his lover above. The world darkened. The ground was warm with a pool of his blood, and everything slowly faded to cold nothingness.

Lethrena sobbed, covering her mouth, tears pouring down her face. Yrr’jaiish glanced up, chuckling. The Blood Elf met Its gaze and whimpered, turning and dragging herself as fast as she could to the portal, murmuring new coordinates and using the last of her dwindling energy to go through it. It closed, and the ledge was silent.

Yrr’jaiish narrowed its eyes. She had gotten away.

Nyxondra gained the upper hand, slamming Rheastrasza into the wall. The Red Dragoness roared defiantly, but Nyxondra slammed her claws against Rheastrasza’s throat, holding her there.

“DEATHWING IS COMING FOR YOUR HEAD, BITCH! THE BADLANDS WILL BURN WITH HIS FURY! ALL YOUR PATHETIC FRIENDS SHALL DIE; HE IS COMING AND HE WILL KILL YOUR PRECIOUS EGG!” the Black Dragoness roared, claws drawing crimson blood to pour down Rheastrasza’s vibrant scales.

Rheastrasza bared her fangs. “THEN HE’LL BE GREETED WITH YOUR CORPSE!”

Rheastrasza reared her head back a moment then unleashed a jet of white-hot flame into the face of her foe.

Nyxondra screeched, flailing to move away, but Rheastrasza grabbed her shoulders, falling with her to the ground and holding her down, flame broiling the other Dragoness to cinders. Nyxondra writhed, howling, but the waves of heat drowned everything out--

Until finally Rheastrasza ceased her flame, her foe nothing but black ash under her.

Kas and Atano charged at the remaining Wyrmguards, beating down those they could grab and unable to stop the lucky ones as they ran far and away out of there.

The sounds of battle finally died down…

Rheastrasza looked around, breathing hard and weary, seeing first a glint on the alcove; her Titan Sentinel Orb, dropped by the dead guards of Broderick’s party! Then Ye’tka, still limp on the ground, then--

Yrr’jaiish, watching the four of them with calm interest.

Kas growled low, stepping in front of Rheastrasza slowly despite the blood pouring down his arms and chest. The Dragoness looked at the Old God afraid, then glanced back up at the ledge desperately, an idea coming to mind.

Yrr’jaiish started slowly towards Ye’tka.

Atano stepped forward, spear in hand, pointed coldly at the human form. “ _Stop_.”

The Old God glanced back at the Tauren, bemused, crooked smile growing higher up its cheeks but stopping in place.

Atano tightened his grip on the spear, moving over slowly, trying to get to Ye’tka’s side, but so far away. Yrr’jaiish chuckled, low and sinister, darting forward and blocking the way.

Atano charged, roaring, trying to protect his companion, but the Old God ducked under the swing of his spear and kicking his chest, doubling him over, bringing a hand down hard on his head and knocking him to the ground.

Before Yrr’jaiish could do anything though, Kas tackled him full-force--

Yrr’jaiish snarled and spun, throwing Kas back wildly into the wall, the naked and bloody worgen crashing and falling to the ground with a groan.

Rheastrasza charged, grabbing the human’s form in her claws and digging in, tossing it away to tumble far from her guards, roaring--

Yrr’jaiish rolled back over to its feet, casting out a lasso of purple energy that wrapped its slimy tendrils around Rheastrasza’s neck. The Old God shrieked in rage, throwing her aside, sending her huge body high through the air and crashing into the alcove above, where she shifted back to a viciously battered Goblin woman.

Atano scrambled to his feet, darting over to stand between the Old God and Ye’tka, twirling the spear through the air to cut away the tendrils racing over to the immobilized Troll. Yrr’jaiish growled and moved forward towards him, more and more tendrils coming out from under Goran’s clothing, some catching Atano’s arm and stinging, like barbed jellyfish limbs. Atano held his ground, hissing in pain--

Kas slowly raised himself from the ground, rubble and dust falling from his tan fur. His red eyes shone forth in hatred, and clutched in his hands were two new daggers, dropped by the cultists, that had survived Rheastrasza’s fire. One, the Gutgore Ripper, slung its thin orange blade out with a smooth curve on the top and jagged piercing rolls on the bottom--a petite red tassel hanging from its hilt. The other, the Heartrazor, held a thicker blade of smooth steel that turned from silver on top to dark red and orange on the bottom; blood and fire--a pulsating glow emanating forth as it hungered to cut.

Kas rushed forward, hacking through the tendrils with Atano, holding the line as the Old God still advanced.

Atop the ridge, Rhea moved to her knees, weakly crawling over to the Titan Orb. It crackled upon her touch but its energy drooped and faded. She breathed hard, murmuring softly, letting everything else fall away--

\--teleporting a friend in.

The small form of Dr. Hieronymus Blam thudded to the ground in front of her with a squeak, and the Gnome looked around shakily. The corpses of the slain Twilight guards were surrounding him, and ahead of him, the Orb and Rhea. He moved forward to her quickly, then glanced out at the commotion below, confused--

“Hiero,” she murmured, trying to recover her energy as best she could, “get that thing online. Magnify it. NOW.”

Without a word, the Gnome rushed back to the Orb.

Below, Yrr’jaiish got to Atano, one arm rushing out and elongating like an uncoiled snake, twisting around his throat. The Tauren yelled, struggling, lifted off the ground as he writhed, fumbling to cut through--

Kas hacked through the main tendons of the snake arm, and Yrr’jaiish growled. Kas spun, planting a kick in the Old God’s chest and forcing it back, but it lashed out, dozens of new tendrils wrapping around Kas’s leg and yanking him forward away from his ally. Kas landed hard on his back, wincing and kicking away at the tendrils with his other leg before they rolled over that one too, forcing him back on the ground--

He slashed through some, snarling, busting one leg free, but Yrr’jaiish whipped him around and tossed him away, sending him cracking hard into the opposite wall of the cavern. Kas slumped to the ground, lying still.

Yrr’jaiish snarled, moving back towards Atano. The tendrils whipped, frenzied, finally grabbing the spear and throwing it out of the Tauren’s reach, wrapping Atano up tight and lifting him off the ground away, squeezing-- squeezing--!

A blast of golden energy filled the cavern with light, and Yrr’jaiish dropped Atano, screeching in pain.

The Titan Orb was active again, every bit of its power going towards destroying the Old God, a thick beam of energy searing off the human disguise. Yrr’jaiish roared in agony, writhing to get nearer the Orb and destroy it, Goran’s face melting away to reveal a shapeless being of a thousand yellow slitted eyes and black tentacles. Its roar lowered to inhuman octaves, groaning with the voices of a hundred dead generations--but it advanced on the Orb.

Atano dove, grabbing the things that might be described as legs; the mass of swirling dark tentacles holding it to the ground. Yrr’jaiish staggered, moaning, looking down at Atano and lashing its main arm down over his back, making the Tauren yell in pain as an unholy burn seared his fur.

Yrr’jaiish shuddered, the eyes on its chest exploding like sacs of pus, dribbling green and brown blood down its front. It writhed, screeching, the eyes seared away to reveal a skeletal framework beneath and the hint of a twisted heart, protected but not for long, beating in agony that it might actually lose--

The Old God reared forward, extending its arm all the way. Its flesh seared off, filling the cavern with an indescribably foul odor, smoke rising from burning pores, but it grabbed the Orb fully and squeezed, cutting off the light beam and shattering the Titan construct that had given Rhea hope.

Yrr’jaiish threw the hunk of dead metals aside, lashing back again at Atano on the ground, roaring--

Kas threw himself at the Old God from behind, tackling it down. It twisted around, trying to lash out at the naked worgen, but all it did was expose its chest to the faster rogue--

 Kas brought both daggers down hard, piercing its core and its heart, roaring with all his remaining might into the Old God’s many eyes.

Yrr’jaiish screeched, writhing--then let out a low groan, shuddering and falling still on the ground. Dead.

Kas slumped off of the corpse, new daggers in hand, dripping with tar-like black blood. The worgen wheezed, and Atano moved over to him, bloody and bruised but in far better shape. Rheastrasza flew down, panicked, moving to her bodyguard’s side with Dr. Blam.

Behind them all, Ye’tka sprinted forward, no longer in the throes of the Old God’s will-power. The shaman knelt, running his hands over Kas’s fur and murmuring. His hands glowed, and he looked up at Rhea.

“I can-- stabilize him-- but needs-- a proper healah; we all do.”

The Red Dragoness took a long breath and mustered up her strength--teleporting them away to Dragon’s Mouth.

<*>                    <*>                     <*>

Long hours passed in the healer’s tent at Dragon’s mouth. The camp was quiet, praying for all of them. Ye’tka passed on the information to Victoria and the rest about what had happened, not bothering anymore to keep secret who they all were and their purposes in the desert.

Atano was the first to come out, and moved off to the edge of the camp, sitting and watching the sky as it dipped down orange and pink. Ye’tka moved over to his side, tired, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Your bird; I’m sorry, mon--”

Atano glanced back up at him with a tired smile, putting a hand over the Troll’s to stop him. Ye’tka stopped, sighing.

Atano stood up, facing him, looking him over. Ye’tka blinked.

“What?”

Atano shook his head softly, watching him a long moment, looking so tired. Ye’tka frowned, putting a hand over the Tauren’s heart, trying to sense if the priests had missed anything.

“You’re okay?”

Atano smiled softly and nodded, putting his large arms around the shaman and bringing him in tight, kissing him long and soft. Ye’tka tensed in surprise--then slowly shut his eyes, hands moving up against the Tauren’s face, content to stay in this moment of peace and affection forever.

<*>                    <*>                     <*>

Rhea didn’t leave the tent fully until Kas was fine. She’d insisted the healers focus on him first, and softly soothed her worgen love, petting his chest and easing his feral side back to a weak human man, before finally relenting to being healed herself. She brought supper in for them both once the priests had finished on her; her bodyguard had remained a lot longer. Ivan generously lent a pair of his spare clothes for the worgen man; enchanted to shift with the body from human form to wolf whenever, as well as a traveling cloak.

The healers let him go around midnight, and Rhea guided him gently beyond the tent out into the camp under the stars.

He was trembling, trying to stay close to her, still reeling, and she brought him out to the edge of camp, more secluded where none could see, shifting to her brown-skinned human visage just for him. His lip trembled, and she pulled him in against her breast, holding him close, red hair falling gently and weaving against his as he clung to her, crying wordlessly, so much anxiety to keep her safe breaking against his walls.

She held him a long time, petting his head and murmuring soothing words in her native tongue. Part of her shivered and wept: Deathwing was coming to the desert for her. Everyone there they had met; every camp they’d been to would die, if the large Black Dragon didn’t find her. It would tear through the continent to get her and the egg. But that didn’t matter, tonight.

Kas finally settled after an hour, still shivering and clinging to her. He turned, kissing her chest softly; leaning up and kissing her neck; desperate affection to make her know how much she meant to him; that she’d be safe in his heart. He paused, looking up at her weakly. She put her hand on his cheek, leaning down and kissing his lips, long and sweet, letting his heart into secret places it had never been before, places she’d kept locked away from anyone for so long.

He pulled her in closer against him, breathing hard. She trembled in his grasp, pulse racing, kissing him again, aching to be held and nurtured just as much.

Under the full starlight, they bared their vulnerabilities and tenderly began to heal.


	51. Chapter 51

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lethrena's fate. / Rhea and Kas have survived so much, and gotten so much closer--but their future isn't secure just yet...

Lethrena gasped awake on her belly against fields of pure, soft grass. The sky above was a sweet, pleasant blue, and trails of energy calmly wandered through it. Further on in the plains, the whole world seemed to drift off and fall into that sky. Eternal waterfalls fell from floating islands of earth. The south-western edge of Nagrand and Outland itself.

She struggled to get up, the dew on her chest soaked into her shirt. The dried blood of last night blackened it completely. She yelled in agony, unable to move--or feel--her feet, falling back to the earth helpless and alone.

She rolled over to her back, weeping for herself and her lover. Broderick was dead.

Birdsong whistled through the air, counting down the hours of the day.

Lethrena lay on her back a long time. There was water; she could hear a brook nearby, but no way to get to it. No food around she could get.

She closed her eyes, gulping, and felt for her ritual dagger, bringing it out from its pocket. She stabbed it into her hand, wincing, lip trembling, but not crying out in pain at all. She shuddered and went still again, calm, letting her blood flow out and pool against her already destroyed robe.

“Help me,” she murmured. “Hear my call; let me make my contract with you. Help me.”

“Who are you, asking for help?”

The male voice was deep and sensual, coming from nowhere and all around her all at once. She kept her eyes tight shut, trembling again. It could see into her heart; that didn’t matter, now.

“Let me make a contract,” she murmured fervently.

The voice was gone a long moment. “Name your price,” it murmured sweetly into her ear.

“I will bind you to my will. Exactly as I wish. You will take on the form I desire; you will help me without question or bitter commenting. You will help me survive.”

“And in return?”

“In return--” Lethrena murmured, then paused, breathing low. “In return,” she said finally, “I give you everything of me.”

The air around her filled with a hum of surprise. She gulped.

“Please,” she murmured. “I beg of you; please.”

The voice growled its delight against her ear, and a hand of cold, dead flesh closed against hers. She winced, feeling its blood enter her veins, chilling her arm--

“Our contract is sealed,” the Wrathguard demon’s voice murmured. “Now… Mistress… what is this form you desire?”

“Broderick Redmane.”

The air blew against her face, and suddenly the sensual voice of her mate met her ears. “Mistress?”

Lethrena opened her eyes.

Her mate knelt in front of her, watching her tenderly--his eyes the golden eyes of her demon and as cold and cunning as ever. His handsome smile danced against his face, and all he wore was a kilt.

A tear rolled down her cheek, and she put a hand to his face, caressing it. The demon raised a brow momentarily, then leaned against her touch.

“Kiss me, my mate,” she murmured.

The demon shut its eyes, collecting her in its arms and kissing her deeply. Oh yes, Lethrena thought as her arms moved around her mate’s head, she would have her home after all.

<*>                    <*>                    <*>

Kas had slept completely peacefully in Rhea’s arms. The Dragoness in human form had woken first, moving his traveling cloak over their bodies, hugging him to her to keep him warm. She kissed his head and petted his hair, feeling his skin against hers, treasuring each sensation.

It would all be over soon.

Kas woke up, and Rhea’s brow trembled, trying to force away tears. She knew what was coming.

Kas blushed, realizing he was in her arms, smiling up at her, the innocence of his past heart shining through so wonderfully--clouded, seeing her. Concern riddled his features, and he put a hand to her cheek, sitting up and drawing her into his arms, protective.

“Rhea?”

She shivered against him and pressed to him tight.

“I don’t want to leave this,” she murmured. Kas frowned, petting her back. She nuzzled him, sighing slowly, voice weak.

The egg must always be moving,” she murmured, heart aching. “We aren’t safe anywhere. Deathwing, even in his madness, knows all the hidden places of this world.”

Kas brushed one hand against her face, and she pressed against it, looking him over.

“Oh Gods, Kas, I wish so desperately I could stay with you here like this for so much more time.”

“Anywhere you have to run to, I’m coming with,” he murmured gently. “I’m not leaving you, Rhea.”

She looked at him, pained, then kissed him long and tender, pressing him back and loving him with all she could give, trying to press away the future.

But the future could go away only so long.

They finally dressed, going back into the camp for breakfast, Rhea returning to her Goblin form for others’ eyes. Kas went with her, holding her close at every opportunity, not minding when she went off alone to speak to Dr. Blam about something.

Atano and Ye’tka moved out of a tent together, looking like they hadn’t slept much, eating together and staying quite close. Kas smiled to himself.

Rhea came back, trying to smile to her lover. “There’s a secluded place north of here that the egg is hidden at. We’ll make our way there to move it.”

Kas nodded, standing. Rhea tried to smile again, weak along her features with pain and stress. They went north. Kas did his best to speak of their prospective room in the Wyrmrest Temple, but somehow even that did not make her smile full.

“Rhea, love?”

She glanced up at him, gaze trembling to stay still. He knelt by her.

“Please; what’s going on?”

Rhea smiled weakly, putting a hand to his face, caressing him. “I don’t-- I don’t want to live like this, with you. Always running. Every waking moment stress and danger.”

He put his hand over hers. “If that’s the price of being near you, Rhea, I’ll gladly pay it.”

Rhea kissed him long and soft, a tear falling from her face and to his beard. They continued on their way.

They finally came upon the sight of a cave, nestled in against many cliffs. Rhea pulled Kas over to the bushes at the edge of the expanse, and he knelt down among them, confused.

“Rhea?”

“Trying to make sure Deathwing’s not here already,” she murmured, frightened. Kas blinked, glancing up. There was no one around--maybe in the cave?

“I can scout ahead?”

Rhea pulled back slowly, lip trembling, watching her lover as he tried once more to guard her. He finally realized she was standing back.

“Rhea?”

She waved a hand over him, immobilizing him, and she finally broke, tears spilling silently down her face. She knelt down, cradling his head, petting his hair, voice low and broken.

“I know you won’t believe me, Kas, but I love you, deep and true, with all my being. I love you so, so very much. I would move the stars themselves to keep you safe and happy. And this is not your fault. None of this is; you came along as my bodyguard and you were a better guard than I could’ve ever wished for. We would’ve died so long ago if you hadn’t been you. You were so wonderful. You are so wonderful.

“But the painful truth is that Deathwing’s already here. I can feel him, lurking atop the ridge here, waiting for me to come. It’s not enough to destroy the egg; he wants to send the message to my Queen that any tampering in the Black Dragonflight’s lineage will be dealt with.

“It’s okay, though. It really is; you’ve got to trust me that it is. It’ll be okay. We already have the notes; we can reverse other eggs. But for there to be peace; for him not to destroy my kin, I have to go now.”

She sobbed, kissing his frozen lips then his forehead. His eyes were pleading with her, even if the rest of him couldn’t move.

“Please know that this isn’t your fault. We couldn’t beat him; not if we tried. I can’t let you die for me. You’re too important, and I have something I can trust only you to do. And I know--I know--that this is all gone wrong now; I know that it’s going to make your heart hard, and make everything so much worse for anyone else who tries to get into that beautiful heart, but please, Kas-- Please. You’re such a fantastic man. I’ve seen everything you can give. You’re worth letting in; please let them in.”

She held him tighter a long moment, the wind blowing through impassively.

“I’m so, so sorry, my darling. I love you so much, Kaskaeld Remor. Paint me, when you can, and know that I’ll be watching over you with all the protection of an angel.”

She let him go.

Rheastrasza walked to the cavern where she knew her fate was sealed, small Goblin form wracked with sobs, tears spilling down because she couldn’t stop them. Inside the cavern, plain to see, was the egg she’d fretted so much over. She walked in, moving to it, running a hand over it, biting back a fresh wave of tears. Deathwing had to believe, after all, that she was relieved to see it safe.

A loud flapping of wings, and a monstrous THOOM from outside as a huge body hit the earth.

Rhea tensed, gasping, her heart pounding. Wild thoughts came to mind; she could teleport away--she could grab Kas and teleport away--!

Her lip trembled, and she slowly turned.

Her eyes widened. She had to sell her inability. Her demise.

“No,” she said in horror. “It’s-- It’s you-- NO!”

Deathwing’s black armor met her eyes, twisting metal jaw cruel and hatefully angled. Its orange gaze of fire seared into her.

“Are you ready to die, Dragoness?” Deathwing spat at her, voice shaking the cavern. Rhea held her arms out in front of her, cowering, tears spilling freely down her cheeks.

“Yes,” she called out, though every muscle in her heart and her womb screamed no, please, Gods, no-- “Just-- Just show mercy to the egg!”

Deathwing recoiled a moment, scales shivering with fury. “Mercy?!” he yelled--

“THERE IS NO MERCY! YOU WILL BURN FOR THIS, DRAGONESS!”

Rhea shut her eyes.

Kas heard the roaring explosion of fire as the air around him grew furiously hot, and the scream of his lover cut short.

Every muscle in his body strained--

He finally broke free of her spell.

Kas scrambled to his feet, sprinting towards the cave. Deathwing had already taken off, huge bat-like wings trailing darkness against the lovely sky. Kas rushed into the cave--

Fires. Ash. Nothing of the egg.

Bones.

He took a few steps forward before dropping to his knees at the edge of Rhea’s remains. He moved a hand out, gentle, to caress her skull, and as he touched it, it fell away to dust, drifting away with the rest of her on the wind.

A low breeze drifted through and carried her away.

Kas sat back, nothing left for him to do. No tears came to his eyes. Everything sealed away deep, his fragile heart returning to stone and hardening layer after layer, so that no one else would make it scream so.

He breathed low and even. His eyes were dull now. He stood, feeling the wind of the searingly hot desert as just a chill. He turned.

Three figures met him at the edge of the cave. Ones who had come quickly, but not quick enough. Ones who had known.

Ye’tka looked on in horror and pity, seeing his friend so quickly and so thoroughly damaged. Atano held his hand, looking on with the same sorrow, though from a place of understanding. Both of them looked as though they wished to speak words of comfort to him. Maybe they did. He didn’t hear them, either way.

Dr. Hieronymus Blam looked up, pained, and held out a large bag for Kas. Kas took it, shouldering it, and wandered away into the desert, not hearing anything anymore except the cold, lonesome sound of the wind. The larger men tried to reach him, but Kas ran, faster and faster, until he was gone.


	52. Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhea's final letter and wish.

My dearest Kaskaeld,

If you are reading this, then the worst possibility has come to pass. Deathwing has come, and he has found us. The egg is destroyed, as am I.

Please do not worry about the egg that Deathwing destroyed; it was not the egg he sought. That one was transported to the Vermillion Redoubt as soon as we reached Dragon’s Mouth. I am told by its caretaker, Corastrasza, that the whelpling in it will be named Wrathion.

The egg that was destroyed was mine.

I cannot begin to describe the pain with which this future fills me. Not only that my child will die so that another may live, nor that I must give my life to ensure Deathwing’s belief that the world is rid of that new Black Dragonflight. The hardest part of all of this is knowing that you will live on in pain.

If I do not get the chance to tell you, then please understand: this is not your fault. No, it is not. Stop believing that: it is NOT YOUR FAULT. I made my decisions. I rolled the dice and gambled to try and achieve something great, and for that achievement, I lost what was most dear.

I wish so badly that I will live to be with you until you are an old man. I wish to the Gods that I will watch all your joy and all your pain and give you all the comfort I can. I pray that I will bear you children if you want, or just that I can be your muse in all your wonderful artwork. I wish more than anything that I can stay with you, because if I don’t, I am so afraid you’ll close up again.

You’re sleeping very soundly by my side while I write this. I can’t describe to you how beautiful you look to me.

Kaskaeld Remor, before I met you, I had not let anyone into my heart since my mate died decades ago. Even the thought of being held by someone again was painful. I wanted to do my science and I wanted to be left to all the pleasures of being known for the advancement of my people. I had lost the tenderness of the mother I once was, and I did terrible things to pursue my goals, even though they achieved great things.

Without you, Kaskaeld, I would still be a cold, cold woman. But you came along, and you worked your way subtly past all my barriers until I didn’t want to do anything anymore if it wasn’t with you. And I can see all that tenderness shining through the cracks in your barriers. I know that you won’t let anything happen to me that you can help.

So, again, this isn’t something you can help. Please know this: know that this is not on you. Know that I love you more than I have ever loved a mortal, and more than I have ever loved anyone or anything in the past decades. I never realized how much I was missing until you came, and then the world grew back to a beautiful set of colors again.

I hope we spend years laughing together. And I hope that, if we don’t, you find someone who loves you just as much as I do. Because I’ve seen your heart, Kas, and you are such a beautiful, beautiful person when your heart is singing. Please let the world have the gift of YOU.

Time is so short.

If you’re reading this letter, then you know there are two more. One is for your human king, to explain the situation and to charter you transport to Wyrmrest Temple. The other is for my Queen Alexstrasza.

You will also find that there is an egg in this bag Hiero gave you. It is the last of its kind. It is my last egg.

If I am dead, then there is no one else in this whole world I trust more to deliver my egg to my Queen and to keep it safe. She will tend to it gladly, but getting it there--

Kaskaeld, please take care of him for me. My son’s name is Xairestraszas. It is an old word, meaning “He Who Brings Hope.” I’ve murmured each night to him about you, and I can tell he’s excited to finally meet you. I know you will be an incredible protector to him, and I would be honored if you stayed with him and Queen Alexstrasza to be his father.

Everyone could use a man like you in their lives, Kaskaeld.

The dawn is coming. I wish so badly that you never have to read this, and that we can be together. But if you must, and I am gone, then please know that I will watch over you and guard you all I can.

I love you so much more than all these words can express.

Yours eternally,

Rheastrasza

<*>                    <*>                    <*>

Kas sat atop one of the many ridges of the Badlands, letting the cold night air brush against him. He read the letter in the starlight. He’d been reading it the past hour.

He finally rolled it back up, tying a string around it and put it away in the small sack again with the other two. They remained sealed.

He pulled out the egg. It was red, and smaller than other Dragon eggs. Spines around the top were in a circle. Healthy. It quivered in his touch. Somebody was excited.

He held it close in his lap, licking his lips to work away the cracks in his voice.

“Xairestraszas,” he murmured.

A crack shuddered through the egg. It widened. Further--

The top of the egg popped off on Kas’s lap, exposing the wet head of a newborn whelpling. Its large, sweet eyes blinked up slowly at him, and it cooed.

Kas put a hand lightly to its head, and it nuzzled up against him, its scales small and fine. Kas stroked it gently, reaching into the sack and pulling out a small waterskin of goat’s milk.

Xairestraszas squeaked and clamped onto the small opening, suckling down nourishment.

Kas looked out at the desert below, face impassive. He fed the whelpling until it batted the skin away, and he put that back in the sack. He helped the small body out of the shell of the egg, setting the fragments down neatly. He pulled out a cloth, rubbing it gently over the whelpling, cleaning it, then wrapped up the egg fragments in it and put it away.

Xairestraszas blinked up at him again, cooing.

Kas offered him a small, pained smile, getting out a sling and putting it around his own head and arm, helping the whelpling clamber in and make himself a home snuggled in against Kas’s warm heart. Xairestraszas squirmed and finally settled in to sleep.

Kas put a hand against him, petting him slowly.

“My name is Kaskaeld Remor,” Kas murmured finally, knowing the young Dragon wasn’t awake to listen. “Your mother’s name was Rheastrasza, and I loved her dearly. I don’t know if I can open myself up that much to you. But I can tell you this: I protected her, and I will protect you. With all my being, I will protect you, child.”

Kas got up, careful not to wake the whelpling, and started down the trail. It was a very, very long walk to Stormwind, and a farther journey to Wyrmrest.


End file.
